


sucker punch

by holodne_cerce



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Pining, Romance, Timeline: Autumn 2018-Spring 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-14 15:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18478855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holodne_cerce/pseuds/holodne_cerce
Summary: …just one look and i’m out of touch/i’m freaking out ‘cause i’m scared/this might end bad/but i still come back for it/





	sucker punch

“i think i already told you that this is a terrible idea,” thilo said half inquiringly, looking away from kylian and staring at julian draxler, who was deeply involved in conversation with marco and presnel at the opposite end of the room. kylian beside him made a plaintive whimpering sound:  
“this is the worst thing that ever happened to me, why?!”  
thilo laughed and patted him tenderly on the shoulder.  
“love is a terrible venture.”  
“oh gods, kylian, are you in love?” neymar screamed behind them enthusiastically, immediately plunging the dressing room into a cacophony of laughter, approving shouts and congratulations. kylian, gnashing his teeth, bestowed thilo with a scathing glance.  
“and who is this lucky person?” presnel shouted and threw a hand on julian's shoulder.  
there’s pain splashed out in kylian’s eyes, but he laughed indiscreetly:  
“like i’m telling you, guys.”  
thilo sighed and thought that perhaps he should have a word with julian.

/thilo  
an occasion recurred pretty soon. julian’s personal driver had some issues at home, and he tearfully asked for a day-off for today, so julian was left without transport. naturally, thilo offered his modest services. a strange nervousness suddenly struck him - he murmured to julian that he had forgotten something in the locker room and should return, shoved the keys into his palm and hastily disappeared inside the centre. in fact, he hoped to gain time for himself and delay the moment when they get into the car and thilo would have to start this conversation. he suddenly realised that he simply has no idea how all this should sound and what exactly he should ask julian. he was as worried as if he himself was going to confess. after wandering aimlessly through the corridors for about ten minutes, and without any thought of anything, thilo let everything go, pulled himself together (or rather, tried to) and moved to his car.  
julian was already sitting inside in a relaxed pose and looking thoughtfully somewhere through the horizon. thilo jerked the door to the driver’s seat open - julian flinched and woke up, looked up at him.  
“sorry it took so long” thilo said hoarsely and cleared his throat. julian shook his head vaguely. thilo sat down in his place, started the engine, buckled up and tried to take the most comfortable position. tension didn’t want to leave his body. julian probably noticed something, because several times he threw cautious glances at him, but, fortunately, did not ask. thilo cursed kylian along with his problems – he already must be sitting at home, warm and comfortable, eating his mother’s soup, while him, thilo, is trembling and sweating, thinking how to bring julian to the right thought smoothly - for example, that kylian, in general, is quite “not bad”. with an increasing panic, thilo realised that he already needs to say something, and started moving rather abruptly while taxiing on the roadway - for some reason it seemed to him that outside the campus it was safer to discuss something like… this.  
“well, so,” he cleared his throat once more, mentally horrified at how unnatural his voice sounded. “how are you?”  
damn it.  
“very good,” julian calmly answered, completely ignoring the glaring absurdity of the question. he looked at his friend again and smiled a little, as if encouraging him to continue. thilo appealed to all the gods and continued:  
“how do you feel about the upcoming match?”  
julian reflected a little.  
“so-so,” he finally answered. “we are very handy that it will be at home. i think everything will be much better than the previous time. but i, most likely, will not get to the starting line-up.”  
thilo awkwardly fidgeted. the upcoming game with liverpool troubled him much less than this conversation. he was very afraid that julian would lose patience now, and demand an explanation about what was happening. it was no longer possible to dance around.  
“i’d like to talk to you about something,” thilo said. julian made himself more comfortable, and looked at him questioningly. this kylian, damn him three times!”  
“tell me how do you feel about kylian?”  
thilo furtively glanced at julian - he was clearly caught off guard.  
“about kylian?” he said in surprise. “positively. a great player, also a good guy. what’s the matter?”  
who knows what thilo expected, but it was a complete failure. everything would be much easier if julian confessed to him that he had been long and hopelessly in love with notorious kylian, but all these meaningless dreams were broken by julian’s bewildered face, who felt “positively” about notorious kylian, adored his childhood girlfriend, and in general didn’t suspect the existence of any teammates in love with him. barely adults. oh my goodness, oh my god.  
“it’s nothing,” thilo assured hysterically, and almost missed the right turn. julian watched tensely how they slid between a tattered red toyota and a sidewalk as they drove out onto the avenue, and then looked at thilo again, clearly convinced of his ulterior motives. thilo ignored his probing gaze, but these were very weak attempts — from the pressure exerted on him by julian he wanted to open all the windows and ask to lower the power of gravity a little. and to get out of the car at full speed.  
“why do you ask about kylian?” julian asked forcefully, and then his face changed, as if he suddenly got an idea of something. “you think ... it’s because of the competition, right? do you think i dislike him because he reduces my chances of starting?”  
“what a fool,” thilo thought, both irritably and with relief. he decided not to say that out loud.  
“no, of course not,” he said. “i know you enough to understand that you are not capable of this.” he paused, and julian instinctively felt that he was gathering his thoughts, didn’t press and waited patiently. thilo looked at the road thoughtlessly.  
“oh, here is your home!” he said with genuine surprise, slowing down and driving into the courtyard. julian opened his mouth to argue, but thilo hurriedly rattled, not letting him insert a single word:  
“then see you tomorrow, i still have to swing by a friend’s place, and there are documents to pick up, no time, have a good day!”  
… okay, the attempt number one failed, thilo angrily thought, turning the steering wheel towards the champs elysees. I’m not a diplomat and not a matchmaker, which is no secret. if kylian finds out about this initiative, he’s going to beat the shit out of him, but thilo was convinced that it was needed to do something. and was not going to give up./

/thilo  
thilo woke up abruptly, as after a protracted bright nightmare, and for some time tried to figure out where he is and who he is. after a few seconds, it finally reached him - the phone on the bedside table was ringing off the hook. thilo rolled onto his side and looked at the clock — thin acid-green numbers floated in the dark. a suffocating wave of vague excitement got him, since night calls rarely foretell something good. overplaying the trembling fingers, thilo reached for the phone and frantically accepted the call. the sound of an establishing connection slashed along the nerves. dead silence reigned in the receiver, slightly diluted with background noise. thilo fidgeted nervously, inadvertently dropping the blanket to the floor. he silently cleared his throat, and said:  
“hello.”  
something in the phone rustled, there was a distant knock, as if something heavy fell to the floor, and the rustling became noticeably louder. thilo peered intensely into the darkness, struggling with a gradually increasing panic. at last, a human voice clearly cursed in the receiver, and a second later kylian exclaimed:  
“hello! i’m sorry if i distract you.”  
everything’s fine, bro, i don’t know what to do every night around three anyway, thank you for calling, at least some kind of entertainment. kylian’s voice was quite calm - a person who has got someone in the hospital or burned down the house couldn’t have such voice. thilo exhaled, turned over and looked at the time again - 2:46.  
“you were asleep, probably,” kylian continued guiltily, demonstrating the wonders of acumen.  
“sure thing that no,” thilo hissed through his teeth. “who sleeps at such children’s time.”  
kylian puffed loudly and then said:  
“sorry. i wanted to ask you something ...” he hesitated. thilo waited patiently, listening to the ticking of the clock and the background noise in the receiver. deep in his heart, he vaguely guessed what kylian, who allegedly didn’t go to bed at all, wanted to ask him - the phrase that at three in the morning only those who are in love don’t sleep came to his mind inappropriately.  
“thilo, you didn’t tell anyone?” kylian asked seriously on the other end of the line. outside the window, something distantly thundered, a cat screamed, and then it became quiet again. there was a perceptible temptation to wonder “what?”, but thilo decided not to bully.  
“I’m not an asshole.” thilo already opened his mouth to admit that he tried to speak carefully with julian himself, but at the last moment he came to his senses - it was unlikely that julian attached importance to this conversation, and if so, then kylian doesn’t necessarily need to know.  
“thanks,” kylian breathed out awkwardly. it became quiet, as well as outside the window, even the connection did not crackle - for a second it seemed to thilo that kylian had already disconnected. some vague, rather disturbing thoughts about why did kylian suddenly remember about julian in the middle of the night climbed into his head. the breathing in the phone was calm and barely audible, but the damage was already done. thilo feverishly tried to get rid of the images that filled his consciousness, and then kylian spoke:  
“i’m sorry i woke you up. but i couldn’t sleep without knowing, man. i know that you’d never let me down like this, but still i had to make sure. thank you.”  
“you’re welcome,” thilo said, embraced by a strange embarrassment, mostly from his own crazy thoughts, which were hardly having any connection with reality. “good night.”  
“good night.”  
thilo was first to hang up. he wearily lifted the blanket from the floor, laid down on his back and stared at the ceiling, dotted with multi-coloured highlights from the window. 3:01. it seems that kylian’s problem ceased to be personally his problem. thilo himself didn’t understand why he was interested in someone’s relationship - in football, as in any other sphere of human activity, there were a lot of dirty laundry, like for instance financial fraud or corruption, and the homosexual relationships of athletes also belonged to this category. frankly speaking, the case of kylian with julian (even if the latter had no idea about it) was neither the first nor the only one even in their club. but thilo would prefer not to step in, and would not advise it to anyone either. kylian, despite his young age, was not a fool at all, and he most likely wouldn’t do some irreparable nonsense, but thilo still felt a strong need (even an obligation) to help him - since he witnessed this personal little drama.  
he rolled onto his side — through the open window fresh night air and rays of light from neon signs were pouring in. kylian doesn’t even realise how lucky he was, he thought with a smile, falling asleep. he has the best assistant he only can dream of./

/kylian  
the dream surrounded him with a heavy soft covering. it was hot, he was tormented by some kind of viscous languor spreading all over his body, and his mind was twitching between dull, shapeless images. he felt someone else’s presence — pale palms, quiet, quickened breathing, evenly placing along his neck, and unintelligible words in a hoarse voice, and then a burning, frank touch, coupled with the sweet weight of the body leaning on him, drowned out his torn moan. unsuccessfully, he tried to grab hold of hot brisk palms and to catch a slurred kiss on his lips. he knew who it was, even though it didn’t matter. a ghostly touch snaked beneath the collarbone, like a hair or thin thread — he choked, his eyelids fluttered – a wet soft mouth pressed to his stomach, long fingers forcibly opened his spasmodic fist and intertwined with his fingers. a great shiver flooded him, a rushed, forced “a-an! ..” burst out from his throat, and the dream subsided, pushing him into reality - and already there he was sharply arched and released, till the sparks in his eyes exploded. kylian opened his eyes, gasping for breath and still shuddering from the brightest deep orgasm, felt the wet sheets beneath him. someone else’s name came out involuntarily, albeit unintelligible and torn, stigmatised his tongue. kylian moaned frantically and covered his burning face with his hands. it was wet between his legs, and dull pain pulsed rhythmically in the temples. a dream was murky and so shameless that tears almost came to his eyes. it was already a limit. kylian vividly imagined the reaction of his friends and teammates, finding out what kind of dreams the future of french football is watching at night, and the hidden panic made him hastily grab his smartphone from the night table and choose a number in the list with trembling fingers. he was the only one who knew. in the end, kylian could trust himself still, but nobody knows what’s going on in the other’s mind./

/kylian  
after a few weeks, a rather unpleasant and not entirely understandable incident occurred, which for a long time plunged kylian into deep thoughts. routine consisting of trainings, gym, massage and other procedures, free time in the noon, spent mainly with family and friends, again trainings, matches, interviews, charity events and visits to various events on behalf of the club, did not allow to get bored. constant movement, constant actions, albeit regularly repeated – kylian was not bored. being an athlete is extremely difficult, but no less interesting. as a bonus - travels around the world and numbers with six zeros as annual income.  
of course, you can get tired of everything. kylian felt a rather perceptible decline of strength, although he couldn’t determine what exactly this was connected with. most likely the tiredness accumulated over the last month has come down. it was a late evening, they were returning from a somewhat prolonged training, barely moving their legs — tuchel became furious after a sluggish morning training and took it out on them, forcing them to perform a nearly weekly program in a few hours. most of the team has already left, because the coach has slowed kylian down already at the dressing rooms and explained to him personally and tediously the game scheme against the red star. more than once kylian had time to feel the full weight of the burden placed on him by the world and his own talent, although now, it seemed, he was closer to hysteric than ever before. but tuchel didn’t let him go until he said everything he wanted. when he finally went inside, worn out and mad at the whole world, he found christopher waiting for him, leaned to a wall and looking at the ceiling, illuminated only by lanterns from the street. instantly he felt a little better, and a warm wave of gratitude to his friend overcame him.  
“you done already?” nkunku asked in faked surprise, immediately returning kylian to reality. “so, the trainer ate all your brains or left a little?”  
kylian waited for replica like “oh, hold on, you didn’t have any brains anyway,” but christopher was apparently also exhausted and not set up for heated arguments. so he waved his hand vaguely and moved towards the locker rooms.  
“it’s illogical to use us up like this before the match itself,” christopher said. the corridor was still brightly lit, and the training centre was filled with people from the stuff, but no one was met by them, and no one seemed to be on the floor. the half-open doors into the dark offices evoked a feeling of light sadness and at the same time of a strange serene calm. kylian’s heart ached when he thought that someday everything would change.  
“damn germans,” he agreed, referring not only to thomas tuchel and his genetic predisposition to perfectionism, but christopher didn’t know this, sure thing. he snorted, and then suddenly his face changed - they reached the slightly opened door to the locker room, christopher walked a little ahead, and saw something inside. kylian, with a pounding heart, rushed forward, peering into the room. there was no one inside except for julian draxler and presnel kimpembe, tangled together in tight embrace and studying each other devotedly; presnel tightly wrapped his arm around julian’s neck, said something, julian answered indistinctly. kylian was too shocked and overwhelmed by the scene he saw to try to keep a straight face. he froze in front of the open door, feeling how something inside was breaking off slowly – julian’s convulsive exhalation, his fingers on kimpembe’s elbow, their randomly colliding lips stamped like a flash on his cornea...  
christopher orientated almost immediately. quickly assessing the situation, he grabbed kylian by the sleeve of his windbreaker and dragged him along the corridor, at the same time slamming the door of the locker room with his foot. it was not clear whether presnel with julian have heard something or whether they were too enthusiastic about each other to notice a brief fuss at the door - they were probably sure that everyone had already left. christopher was dragging him in an unknown direction almost at a run, and kylian, having difficulty keeping up with him, stubbornly tried to detach his strong fingers that dug into his forearm. he felt his own inglorious defeat in front of nkunku, which was much more insightful than it seemed at first glance. painful images were still staying before him, tearing him apart from the inside. it would be foolish to hope that christopher will blame everything on the shock of finding close friends in a compromising situation - extended eyes, some kind of pallor that even appeared through dark skin, aggravated, pierced by pain facial features could hardly be justified.  
they stopped abruptly at the emergency exit. their belongings and changeable clothes were far away in the locker room, but the thought of returning there seemed a sheer nightmare. kylian just wanted to leave the campus as soon as possible, get home and go to bed. aching legs, back and sunburned eyes. christopher looked around, and then tenaciously took him above the elbow and quietly, distinctly asked:  
“who?”  
kylian understood what he meant. it was pointless to play a fool or try to get out - everything was clear to christopher. kylian’s face was burning, some strange heat filled his ears, his neck, his whole body.  
the last straw.  
“damn germans”, he said reluctantly, stretching his lips into a cramped smile-grimace. christopher exhaled fatefully and let him go. now he was completely different from himself - a boy who fears airplanes, rarely appears on the field and is constantly becoming the object of kylian’s playful ridicules - now he was completely grown up and collected, someone else’s tragedy, which he had witnessed, put a barely perceptible bitter imprint on his face. kylian would like christopher to laugh loudly now and say something like, “well, you’re too much, bro. who would’ve thought, oh well! julian draxler, seriously? fuck it, let’s go better play fifa.” maybe then it would be easier for him. but christopher said nothing of this, only threw a hard look at him, shook his head and said barely audibly:  
“forget it.”  
fucking germans. how could he forget./

/kylian  
sunday, match day with lyon. about twenty-five minutes left before the game, and both teams are already warming up on the field. it’s calm and comfortable on parc de prince, the main squad is ready and everyone is in a fairly high spirits. kylian stands at the entrance to the field and mechanically toys with a bottle of water in his hands. today, his father and brother came to watch the match, and this really spurs his desire to distinguish himself, so that all commentators talk only about him, the whole game. this once again makes kylian think about egoism and its various manifestations - is his holistic desire, in no way related to other players, and certainly not undermining their own right to be recognised, an example of egoism? the problem is that there cannot be several centres. kylian felt a tense competition for attention in their club, and it wasn’t surprising - the club was full of promising famous football players. from this point his thoughts darted to the object of his observation.  
“stalking’?” christopher asked in a scary whisper, creeping imperceptibly. kylian flinched, emerging from a pensive half-forgetfulness, and nastily nagged at nkunku. since the day they caught julian with presnel in the locker room after an evening training, christopher didn’t say a word about what they saw, although it was clear that he couldn’t forget about what had happened.  
“no,” kylian snapped, franticly disguising confusion. thilo swept past them, flashed a broad white-toothed grin to them.  
“you nearly burned a hole in him,” nkunku said with a vile grin. kylian prepared to answer something very offensive, but then the object of his observation sped past them sideward, following thilo, pulling up his sweats with one hand and swinging with the other. christopher was so eloquently and triumphantly silent that kylian wanted to crack his head with a bottle.  
“go talk to him.”  
“about what?” kylian asked indifferently. he would’ve preferred that christopher continue to remain silent and not comment the situation, but no one asked what he would’ve preferred.  
“whatever,” christopher pushed him in the shoulder. “you can’t always stand on the dead centre. you need to act.”  
kylian wanted to say that no action is foreseen, because any movement is doomed to failure in advance, and this isn’t a dead centre, but a position that has nothing to do with julian, since he’s already out of the access zone due to kimpembe, but unexpectedly for himself, he took a step, a second, and resolutely stepped on the greens of artificial grass. his legs were completely rubbery, while he walked to the place where his teammates were crowding, performing warm-up exercises and talking to one another. there was a ringing emptiness in his head too. on what ground can he talk to julian? he took a deep breath and walked around di maria, who was excitedly waving his hands in front of marco’s face and explaining something in spanish with a slight admixture of french (judging by marco’s face, he didn’t understand much), jostled through someone else, stepped over eric and finally landed next to julian. he was bouncing in a lunge, but was clearly more focused on thilo and eric arguing about something in german — he frowned slightly, listening to the arguments or whatever they were exchanging. kylian awkwardly crossed his legs and listened too. an unfamiliar language was setting the teeth on edge, but it sounded blurry and duller than the native french due to the abundance of hushing sounds. julian said something, thilo screamed, judging by intonation something like “see, told you!”. kylian felt incredibly stupid, but it would be even more absurd to get up and leave. finally, julian quitted to imitate a teeming activity and flopped down on the grass next to kylian, glanced at him, smiled a little, and fixed his eyes on his own legs. kylian automatically looked there too, at the pale long calves and muscular thighs, and hastily looked away at desperately gesticulating di maria, ignoring the glimpsed thoughts of the tanned tattooed arms clasping these thighs. something between the ribs tightened stiflingly.  
“will you score today?” without looking up, julian asked. in this question, kylian heard more than just an interest in his sensations or, even worse, a desire to smooth out the awkwardness - he heard some kind of challenge in julian’s question, almost a requirement.  
“yes.” firmly, confidently, without arrogance or superiority. julian grinned and looked up at him, pleased with the answer, and kylian was staring at the sharp, as if pencilled under the ruler, contour of a thin mouth and couldn’t look away.  
suddenly, kylian clearly saw a very real opportunity to mess up his early career - at the very beginning it seemed to him that he would have no difficulty in controlling himself, choosing the right words and behaving naturally, but now he began to realise that he was losing his head.  
“today is your match, i can smell it,” julian said confidentially. he didn’t notice anything.  
“thanks,” kylian replied at random, and then he blushed red-hot. julian laughed again. he continued staring at kylian, and it was very difficult to concentrate and stop behaving like a nerd. he looked around. thilo with eric were standing nearby and watching both of them attentively, thilo smirking without hiding. kylian mentally begged him not to dare commenting.  
“it’s time to go soon,” eric broke the silence, anxiously looking around in search of someone from the coaching staff or organisers. julian quickly jumped up and stretched his hand out to kylian. kylian felt like a deer under thousands of rifles - a huge stadium, and the whole world in front of the television screens witnessed his awkward interaction with draxler. it seemed to kylian that in any movement they clearly guessed his excitement. but it would’ve been even stranger to refuse - kylian grasped a warm, dry palm and let julian lift himself up to his feet. his head was spinning and his mouth ran dry, kylian hated the whole world and himself more than anyone, because it really was the worst thing that could have happened to him (except for the terrible injuries or death of beloved ones, of course). julian, as if on purpose, walked in step with him, almost skin to skin, and his closeness deprived kylian of his last hope to pull himself together and return the composure before the game.  
before entering the field, julian caught him by the elbow - literally for a second. it seemed, he was just passing by - but there was such a weird light in his eyes that kylian suddenly understood one more thing: he will score today. and more than once.  
... he scores four times in thirteen minutes. naturally, everyone speaks only about him./

/julian  
in the evening, julian settles on a bed with a book and a mug of hot tea - the day was strangely tense, even though he played for a very short time. yet another game on the bench as a demonstration of coach’s preferences given not to julian once again, spoiled the mood ultimately, and julian felt that he just needs a quiet and peaceful evening at home. he didn’t want to watch tv. he opened a pleasantly rustling book with a fresh paper and carefully read the author’s preface, which was about twenty pages long — he always did so, although there was never something really related directly to history in these prologues. kimpembe would say “a real german”, for some reason flashed through his head. not a single page is missed, everything is read from cover to cover. julian took a sip of tea, felt a little better and sank into reading with satisfaction.  
but he couldn’t enjoy peace for a long time. utterly deafening in the cosy silence, his phone rang, julian flinched and spilled his tea, which he had just taken from the bedside table. he hissed, returned the mug back, and with annoyance stared at a large dark spot spreading over the sheets, and, which is incomparably worse, over the page. the phone kept ringing, getting on the nerves. julian mentally cursed, crumpled up a wet place on the duvet cover, put the book away (it immediately closed, and he didn’t remember where he finished) and reached for the phone. he mechanically glanced at the clock above the tv - 00:48.  
night calls do not foretell well. julian pulled the phone off the table and rolled onto its back, away from the wet spot. it was kylian calling. julian was so surprised, looking at the display, that all his discontent instantly disappeared - kylian never called him. not even once since he came to the club and they exchanged numbers. julian swallowed hard, feeling nausea coming up his throat, and cold inside. in some kind of prostration, he was still looking at the unabated phone, which has been calling for about two minutes, and not daring to answer. what could’ve happened to kylian that he called him in the middle of the night? the idea that perhaps he needed help brought julian to his senses, so he accepted the call.  
“hello?”  
“hello,” kylian said. his voice was a bit creaky, and his breathing was accelerated, as if he had been running for a long time. julian clearly heard him breathing in and out. but the tone was pretty calm. if help was needed, it was clearly not emergency, and it was encouraging. julian relaxed a bit.  
“hey,” he answered, and pulled the book closer to him. he waited for kylian to explain at least something — where he ran, why he called so late, what happened, anything. but kylian was silent. seconds passed slowly past julian.  
“you called me in the middle of the night to breathe into the phone?” finally, he couldn’t resist.  
“no, no,” kylian assured him immediately. he took a deep breath, and julian heard distant voices in the background. “sorry, i probably disturbed you?”  
there was one feature of kylian - it was impossible not to forgive him when he apologised. whether the matter was in his guilty looking puppy-eyes, or in some individual charm, or maybe just any person who is aware of his wrong and is ready to redeem oneself, makes good impression. julian sighed and put his hand on his forehead, rubbing his temples with his fingers.  
“it’s alright. something happened?”  
kylian exhaled heavily and immediately inhaled hysterically - his breathing began worrying julian seriously; he already opened his mouth to ask, but kylian responded.  
“no. that is, yes. i mean, not quite. actually, i just wanted to say thank you for helping me with these goals today.”  
he was talking somewhat incoherently and continued to breathe noisily, so it seemed to julian that he felt the heat of his breathing with his ear.  
“how did i help you?” he was surprised. he didn’t make any assists today. the thought of this brought back the annoyance that had subsided. for a long time, the need to score or at least make assist became a burden for him, on which something very important depended.  
“you ... set me up in the right way, let’s say,” kylian grinned on the other end of the line. “tell me how you feel,” he almost demanded, slightly breaking on the last word. julian decidedly didn’t understand what was happening, and each subsequent remark of mbappé simply confused him. he wanted to ask what kind of prank it is, but he decided that he wasn’t asked anything compromising, and, after some reflections, replied:  
“it’s difficult to judge, i played for about fifteen minutes, didn’t have time to fully feel the team. but it seems to me that they were not in their best shape today, right? congratulations, by the way, four goals in thirteen minutes - this is a considerable achievement.”. julian noted how kylian was panting, and this strained him more and more. vague suspicions and even images nestled in the brain.  
“yes, i could’ve done even more,” kylian drawled between the ragged breaths. someone in the receiver indistinctly shouted something, kylian shouted back tearfully. julian’s cheeks and ears were glowing. the thought seemed absolutely foolish and ridiculous, but nothing else could explain the situation.  
so that was the kind of help kylian needed?  
or is julian already paranoid due to stress?  
however, kylian was never really modest.  
“no one doubts you. i do not doubt you,” julian whispered, feeling the blush fill his neck. kylian exhaled violently, one more time, and once again. julian stared at one point in the wall and wondered when and how his life has taken such a turn.  
“shit,” half-whisper, choked. julian listened to his breath, still quickened, but gradually calming down. his face was burning. he didn’t even imagine how to look into kylian’s eyes when meeting.  
“thanks,” kylian said hoarsely. “he understood that i understood?” julian thought and answered:  
“but to call so late was still not worth it.”  
“i know, i’m sorry. thank you.”  
julian hung up without saying goodbye. couldn’t take it anymore. he threw the phone aside and sat down on his knees, and then fell forward, hiding his red face. holy hell.  
whoever you’d tell it, they won’t ever believe.  
here’s a serene evening for you./

/julian  
for a while julian had doubts. a week and a half passed, and all this time they were engaged on individual schedules, and today he came to a general training session for the first time - home game with amiens was coming, the team had to feel each other. before he could go to the centre, he was caught by thilo by the sleeve and pulled aside from the cameras and personnel. julian didn’t ask any questions. thilo dragged him around the corner where they could talk without fear of being overheard, and said:  
“i didn’t want to get involved for a long time, but, apparently, i can’t do without it. julian, kylian has been in love with you for quite some time, although he himself only recently has realised this, i think. maybe, i, of course, shouldn’t interfere with it, but i’m still afraid where it might lead him and what he might do.”  
julian was silent, thunderstruck. the circumstances of the night call suddenly took on a completely different colour, and he absolutely didn’t know what to do with the new information.  
he didn’t know, and that’s it.  
there could be no question of any kind of mutuality, julian was horrified at the mere thought of the threat they both would be put at, and which scandal would break out in case someone finds out.  
“and what should i do,” he grunted, without looking up at thilo. thilo hesitated. he probably still hoped that everything will go without broken hearts. contra spem spero!  
“i don’t know, jule,” he said honestly. “like, really don’t know. but something needs to be done before it’s too late.” he paused for a bit, and then added: “or maybe nothing needs to be done, he will burn himself out and forget it in a couple of months, he’s not a fool.”  
julian wondered why the hell he always gets stuck in idiotic stories, and then, unable to restrain himself, cursed with relish. thilo sympathetically mowed at him.  
“he called me after the match with lyon,” not giving himself time to think again, julian said. thilo’s face fell in surprise, and he quickly asked:  
“and what did he say? what for?”  
julian tried to find as decent words as possible, but instead he blushed again painfully. thilo was gazing at him with a dropped jaw. julian really didn’t want to imagine what he’s pictured himself.  
“well, in general,” burning with shame, julian said. “we just talked a little about the game, but, uh...”  
“you’re saying that he... _by your voice_?” thilo breathed out in a loud whisper.  
julian wished he was silent, honestly. it sounded all nightmarish, julian instantly wanted to fall through the ground right there. and then thilo did the worst thing he could’ve done in this situation: throwing his head back, he laughed out loud, heartily, snoring and covering his face with his hands. then, having calmed down a little and seeing julian’s look, he tried to take a serious expression, but still there was mischievous laughter hiding in the corners of his eyes.  
“yep, kylian remains himself in all situations,” thilo said, smiling. julian saw nothing funny. not that he felt desecrated or something like that, but how unscrupulously and routinely kylian used him to satisfy his needs was simply confusing.  
“don’t get it bad, jule,” thilo patted his shoulder encouragingly. “it’s not as serious as it seems. wait for now, evaluate the situation objectively, and only then we will figure out how to solve everything. ok? and don’t worry too much, let’s think kylian in such a way just made a massive compliment to your voice.”  
he guffawed when julian pushed him hard in the shoulder and sped off toward the dressing rooms. julian regretted telling thilo about the night call - for some reason he had not foreseen such a reaction.  
at least now he didn’t feel alone with the problem. he had his own homemade psychologist./

/julian  
the sun was shining, late birds were chirping, and the warm autumn spread out across the streets in all its colourful beauty, but julian remained sullen and preoccupied despite all this surrounding splendour. he and thilo sat on the balls at the edge of the field and watched the team’s measured training. the players felt relaxed and confident, they cooperated well, that’s why the coach was pleased and didn’t bother them much today. he divided the total mass of football players into two teams and ordered them to play, and he didn’t even look very convincingly at julian and thilo crawling away. now both of them were closely observing one particular individual. the individual was running across the field as if he were stung, screaming the loudest and scoring the most.  
“psycho,” julian mumbled frowny and lowered his head on his elbows. thilo snorted. he didn’t seem to take the situation seriously, sincerely not understanding why julian was overreacting. to think about it, nothing really fatal happened, but julian still felt uncomfortable.  
“he’s gay?” he asked without raising his head.  
“i don’t think so,” thilo replied after a while.  
“what’s the matter then? bisexual?”  
“maybe,” thilo fidgeted, almost slipped off the ball and settled himself again, more comfortably. julian was silent and waited for an explanation. beside them the ball kicked by adrien hurtled, and diaby ran to take it back.  
“i’m not a psychologist, and in general i’m not really knowledgeable in such things, but it seems to me that this is another matter,” thilo said. “did you notice how he communicates with you? more precisely, how he had communicated until recently? and how - with others, with neymar himself for instance?”  
julian looked up and glanced at thilo.  
“you aren’t very expressive and you listen more than you say, and at the same time i don’t know a single person who wouldn’t fall under your spell,” julian prepared to protest, but thilo continued: “you don’t communicate with kylian very often, and he doesn’t quite understand how to behave with you - i don’t want to say that you’re boring or unbalanced, i mean that you’re more incomprehensible than others. i think, considering his youth and emotionality, it’s quite understandable that he’s appealed to you. why has this attraction gone beyond pure sympathy and interest? a complicated question. this is sexual love, perhaps his first, i don’t know, he doesn’t understand where to direct it and how to cope with it, because it’s not enough that a beloved person is of the same sex, but is also a teammate.”  
“and you say, you’re not a psychologist,” julian said, puzzled, and straightened up. it turns out that thilo wasn’t so light-hearted about this as julian had supposed. thilo laughed and turned his eyes to the field again.  
“human is a very complex creature.”  
julian mumbled something in response. he already felt light guilt for being so angry with thilo for his carelessness, and even decided to apologise, but then thilo shocked him again:  
“so what is it like, being the object of passion for the best young football player on the planet?”  
“just the ultimate dream,” julian said through his teeth, and thilo laughed again and even stamped his foot several times.  
“you better don’t screw it when he calls next time.”  
“shut up.”  
guilt-like feeling vanished. julian blushed again, and thilo only became merrier.  
“my god, why? it would be much more logical for him to fall for neymar. yes, they even look like a sweet couple!”  
“love is illogical, my friend,” thilo wisely spoke, raising his finger to the sky. “the lord alone knows how to cool a burning heart,” he choked and sniffed. “or not only the heart...”  
“shut up, you,” julian pushed him several times to the side, appealing to the gods and begging him to stop this mockery.  
“it wasn’t like this with kimpembe,” he muttered. everything was natural and somehow by itself with kimpembe - tight hugs and protected back; julian felt that presnel was attached to him, and he himself was attached to presnel, but this was all just a little more than sympathy. presnel had a girl and a child, he adored both of them, and the fact that he sometimes looked at julian as if he was his main meaning didn’t fall on julian’s shoulders with a burden of many-tonnage responsibility, didn’t make him feel guilty when he talked to lena, because sometimes he himself looked at presnel in the same way. julian didn’t know what it is. whoever was presnel for others, for julian he embodied “home”.  
julian turned to thilo, intending to say something, when he saw that a dirty grin was rapidly slipping from his face.  
“wait ...” thilo turned around with his whole body and leaned over. his eyes were huge. “in the sense of - “with kimpembe” !?”  
julian groaned and dropped his head to his hands./

/kylian  
“you - what?!”  
“be quiet”, kylian hissed and looked around nervously, although they were sitting in the closet among the auxiliary equipment and only mops and parts from the simulators could hear them. thilo stared at him somehow too shocked, and this made kylian feel even more terrible – god knows what got him to tell thilo about his half-drunk call to julian from the restroom of the restaurant. the only thing that justified him a little was a fair amount of alcohol in the blood.  
“you truly are something,” thilo drawled, and kylian clearly heard an incipient laugh somewhere in the depths of his words. “how did you look him in the eyes?”  
“did not,” kylian snapped. he was angry, of course, at himself, but thilo could have shown more support. thilo felt it - he had a marvellous gift to catch the smallest changes in someone’s mood - and said conciliatory:  
“okay, don’t get all steamed up. what are you going to do, apologise or pretend that there was nothing?”  
“dunno. will focus on football, and after the match with napoli i’ll think about it.”  
kylian looked around again warily, as if suspecting that there were hidden cameras in the closet, just for such cases. shame strangled him, he wanted to hide his head in the sand and never get it up. nevertheless, after he shared this shameful story with thilo, it became a little easier.  
“dude, this just can’t last forever.” thilo frowned and put his hand on his shoulder. they were sitting in the twilight in the midst of all rubbish and were talking about lofty matters. he wanted to laugh hysterically. “you can escape from the problem as much as you like, but in the end you have to somehow solve it.”  
“but what are you proposing to me?” kylian hissed angrily. “take him to the side and say, so and so, julian draxler, i love you, can’t live without you?”  
“maybe this is the best option,” thilo said thoughtfully, but then recovered, noticing the murderous gaze: “no, of course, not like this.”  
it was silent for a while.  
“do you like girls?” thilo suddenly asked, inquiringly looking into his eyes.  
“yes,” kylian replied firmly.  
“but you like julian draxler more,” thilo finished, smiling nastily.  
“fuck off,” kylian responded instantly. thilo raised his hands:  
“i’m done, i’m done, sorry.” he patted kylian’s shoulder. kylian was so vexed: telling thilo about his misfortune, he got more and more open for attacks, he felt more vulnerable, but he also didn’t know what kind of explosion would’ve happened if he had kept everything inside.  
“you need to talk to him,” thilo said flatly. with an imperious head movement, he stopped kylian, who prepared to speak out. “don’t be silent, it will lead to nothing, you see that you start falling apart. what happens the next time you get drunk, you’ll come to his house in the middle of the night?”  
kylian clenched his teeth. thilo hit the spot, it was impossible not to recognise his rightness.  
“no one says to fly at him with confessions. try to carefully figure out what he thinks of you, of non-traditional relationships, of relationships within the club. just carefully, kylian, not straight to his face.”  
“yeah, right,” kylian muttered gloomily, lowering his head and looking at his feet. “he’s ok, rocking it with kimpembe.”  
“with kimpembe?” thilo made big eyes, but then, apparently, he realised that kylian was not joking.  
“with kimpembe,” kylian nodded, without explaining anything else. an accidentally seen episode in the dressing rooms hung above him like a sword of damocles. sometimes at night he couldn’t get rid of thoughts about the contrast of pale and dark skin, of downed breath and kimpembe’s marks all over julian’s body - raging consciousness was adding all the new details to the picture, so the result was almost a whole high-rated film.  
the situation was further aggravated by the fact that it was impossible to hate kimpembe - he was his close comrade, and he also adored kylian. what was his fault? being mad at julian was so much sweeter.  
“would never believe that you didn’t know. you are such close friends. or didn’t he tell you?”  
kylian was glorying in his bitterness, chasing the arguments for it over and over again. thilo chuckled.  
“he didn’t tell me anything... but how did you find out?”  
“i happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time,” kylian answered evasively. he was angry at thilo, too, although he was a completely neutral person.  
in trainings, before and after games, at official events, julian and presnel continued to hang out together. the unconscious touches between them were abundant, and kylian could only occasionally watch, languishing from jealousy, and try to switch attention to something else — partly for no one to notice, partly to not rattle his nerves.  
“the situation is worse than i thought” thilo absently scratched his head. “but we really don’t know anything, right? it means, try to find out about presnel too.”  
kylian was silent. he was exhausted – both by sports routine and his feelings burning him. that’s what love is - permanent burden of guilt, shame, regrets, awakening in the middle of the night, heat in the whole body, burning nerves? thanks, fed up with it.  
thank you, take it back and give me peace of mind.  
he said that to thilo, and in response, thilo laughed and hugged him. we’ll break through, he said. we’ll make it, the main thing is to know, what for.  
“for my sake,” kylian said. in his opinion, this is exactly what the concept of “healthy egoism.” included./

/julian  
“so, my friend, the situation is like this,” thilo said, convulsively jerking with his foot to throw off the sneakers and holding onto the wall in his hallway. julian, who has literally half an hour ago returned from a restaurant, where he met several old friends, stood fatefully beside him and looked at thilo who visited him at half past one at night, with an expression of total agony on his face. he didn’t like uninvited guests, whoever it was - his parents or civil servants, especially at such a late hour. recently it has become a habit for people to bother me in the middle of the night, julian thought sourly.  
“like what?” he asked meekly. without waiting for an answer, he went to the kitchen to make tea - most likely, thilo would stay for a long time, since he couldn’t wait until morning. from the hallway something loudly boomed, several ornate swear words in german immediately sounded, and finally thilo burst into the kitchen.  
“well, in general,” he repeated, taking his seat at favourite julian’s place near the wall. “i talked to kylian.”  
“what for?” julian asked blankly. electric kettle cosily hissed, boiling the water. julian took out mugs, tea leaves, biscuits on fructose for diabetics (purely formally, for conscience’s sake), normal cookies (for why should we pretend), while at the same time checking alerts on his phone.  
“or rather, he talked to me,” thilo added. “told me how he called you in a drunken stupor, sitting in the toilet of “caesar”.”  
julian imagined this picture, and got sick immediately. one thing was pacifying - kylian did this disgrace not being sober.  
“don’t understand what’s in his head,” julian said irritably, throwing tea leaves into mugs.  
“you,” thilo interrupted, carefully watching his every movement. julian sighed stoically:  
“how did he have the spirit to tell you? it’s a disgrace at its best.”  
“it’s very good he did,” thilo rubbed his hands enthusiastically. “imagine if he was silently mortifying it all inside? how would it end?”  
“he’d suffer it away and get this mess out of his head, you said it yourself.”  
“still,” thilo didn’t give up. “everything would end up with depressions and devastation, he’d begin to play poorly, and then roll downhill. at this age, such strong experiences leave a deep imprint.”  
“you’re dramatizing,” julian cut him off mercilessly. “and you’re literally two years older than him.”  
“and you’re five years older. so what?”  
“there’s a huge gap between twenty and twenty-five.”  
thilo obviously had an opinion on this matter, but he didn’t argue. the kettle boiled and whistled, julian poured boiling water in both mugs and rubbed the sink thoughtfully with a towel.  
“i don’t like his attitude, his nerves are already frayed, it seems. and what do you have with kimpembe? he saw you.”  
julian turned slightly pale, put the mugs on the table and sat down opposite thilo.  
“when?”  
“how do i know?” thilo gladly bit off a piece of biscuits for diabetics. julian twirled a hot mug in his fingers nervously. mentally he estimated when and where kylian could see them: a few days ago, presnel kissed him on the verge of decency before entering the training centre, but several people from the staff and laure boulleau saw this, and then no one took it seriously because everyone was accustomed to their cooing. kylian wasn’t there, as far as julian remembered. locker rooms? possibly. in fact, they only rarely had sex, and usually did it outside the campus for security purposes. but apparently, they messed up somehow.  
“and he didn’t say where?” julian still asked. thilo shook his head and picked up the fourth cookie. julian was glad that at last someone had liked it and now it will no longer occupy space on the shelf. he himself took usual sugar cookie and began to chew methodically, not feeling the taste.  
“you are afraid he’ll tell someone?” thilo asked astutely.  
“not really,” julian sighed and looked up. “but the more people know it, the realer is the danger.”  
he remained silent for a little while, and then said:  
“the fact that he likes me protects me and jeopardises me at the same time. it’s unlikely that he wants to bring a scandal on me, but on the other hand, i can assume that he’s jealous.” thilo actively nodded and shook his hands. he reached for tea, julian mechanically followed - the hot ceylon tea was truly delicious.  
“don’t you want to talk to him?” thilo suddenly asked, after drinking enough. julian looked at him in surprise.  
“why on earth, about what?”  
“about you two,” thilo proclaimed as a matter of course. julian realised that he began to get a taste - being a football player is, of course, interesting, but if it’s still possible to weave intrigues, give advice to the comrades, ignorant in matters of heartfelt and play an own cunning game? a dream.  
“thilo, i ask you to calm down and stop,” julian said, smiling, somewhat impressed by his zeal. “i’m not going to talk about anything with kylian. i think that everything will pass by itself and none of us need to bother about it. in the end, we have more serious problems - we play against napoli on thursday, have you forgotten?”  
thilo, who stuffed his mouth with another cookie, shrugged his shoulders.  
“that’s a shame,” he declared. “in short, i think he will visit you himself. soon.”  
“what? it’s you...” julian angrily stared at thilo. thilo was smiling wickedly, without hiding his exultation. it was already getting out of control. “thilo! nobody asked you to get involved, damn!”  
“who else will help the poor child?”  
julian had a feeling that the whole world was collapsing on him. too much of everything was happening in such a short period of time, and kylian with his foolish love was utterly out of place - the national team’s failures, his own incomprehensible position in the club, gradually souring relations with lena were already wearing him out, but here’s the new surprise.  
“but don’t get it bad,” thilo mumbled and patted his neck. “on the other hand, the best young player on the planet is into you.”/

/kylian  
so he said thilo that he would try to sort things out after the match with napoli? but he didn’t specify after which one. they play a draw on wednesday. the disappointment is fresh, bleeding, although they suggested such an option, and the coach has repeatedly accented that the opponent is much more serious than any team they encounter in league 1 - any loss or draw lays a heavy imprint on his chest, any badly played match tortures kylian, like wind cuts open wound. he clenches his teeth and endures it.  
he’s late for the meeting before the match with marseille, gets fined and tuchel benches him, as if silently showing: everybody will be given no quarter, even if you are at least three times a champion, even if you are the best football player in the world – if you have violated the rule, you got to pay. kylian wants to tell him a lot, motivated both by personal insult and by common sense and fear for the team, because he’s an integral part of it. but he clenches his teeth together again and obediently walks to his place next to diarra. he doesn’t mind sitting on the bench when it’s required by tactics or simply when he isn’t needed, but the coach, who punishes him in this way for a single mistake is like a mother cancelling a trip to disneyland because her son didn’t clean the room - a slap in the face.  
he scores on the sixty-fifth minute, draxler - on the ninety-fourth. kylian cannot help but notice a strange, perhaps exaggerated, regularity: life constantly confronts him with julian, with their gazes, with their names standing next to each other in the game statistics, in conversations with others with and dreams, all the more pulling them together, despite all kylian’s fruitless attempts to escape.  
they play against lille, draw against napoli, again. they still have a chance to reach the championship in the champions league, but for this, they need to beat liverpool, and after that - the red star. kylian definitely has no time for julian draxler. whatever the universe thought about it./

/julian  
presnel takes him out for a walk almost immediately after training, completely ignoring julian’s sluggish resistance. he only lets him take a shower and leave belongings at home, and twenty minutes later his car is already in front of julian’s house, and there’s nothing left to do but to quickly pull a clean sweatshirt and jeans on and go down. without reaching the car, julian already hears a next masterpiece from kim’s playlist, turned on at full volume - presnel didn’t know how to behave quietly and imperceptibly, there was always a lot of him and he was always well heard; sometimes julian felt slightly uncomfortable in his presence - presnel often did and said things that julian didn’t allow himself, and in general his behaviour was almost exactly the opposite of julian’s. some were wondering that they had become such close friends, being completely dissonant with each other. julian opened the door and dived into the warm stuffiness of the interior, right into the thunderous bass, met with a wide white-toothed smile. kimpembe reached out to him with his usual “babe!”, although they had seen each other literally half an hour ago. julian embarrassedly hugged him back, freezing in an uncomfortable position, unable to fully climb into the car. presnel smelled tartly of his favourite cologne (some of julian’s things were also soaked in it), and julian felt a familiar exciting tickling under his ribs.  
kimpembe drives out to champs elysees. it’s too beautiful around, and julian sticks to the window: trees are strewn with red garlands, the buildings are lit with neon and reflect in the wet stone-block pavement. kimpembe wheels to avenue montaigne, and from there they drive across the bayard street to the square of françois i. julian doesn’t know if they are going somewhere specifically or just romp around the city, but he doesn’t care. out of the window, he examines the streets, shining with shop windows and overflowing with people, transforming beyond recognition as the twilight thickens. presnel turned the music down a little and softly hummed to the beat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. they didn’t talk. at such moments, alongside presnel, julian felt as free as on his own, and presnel felt it too and was calming down, stopping to joke, tell stories and laugh, which wasn’t easy to do due to his bright character. they left the vernet street and entered the street galileé, and julian finally became convinced that kimpembe was driving to the triumphal arch. on the square of the star, presnel drove through the arch on the right and taxied into the avenue of the great army. there he reduced speed and turned his eyes to julian. julian felt the physical gravity of this gaze on his cheek, but continued to look ahead through the windshield, trying to keep a feeling of absolute peace, which kimpembe was going to split with words or careless movement. the unrecognised association “paris-home” increasingly flashed in his thoughts. paris slowly, surely grew into him, its highways extended julian veins, its bridges became julian’s bones, and its sounds resonated with julian’s heartbeat.  
kimpembe reached out — an infinitely long movement, lasting for hours — and closed his hot tenacious fingers on the wrist of julian’s hand, resting indifferently on his knees. julian dutifully succumbed to the touch. presnel was all about it - to take by the elbow, to clasp the neck, to squeeze the hip - the idea of intertwine fingers with him or leaning their foreheads together seemed to julian as absurd as the idea of romantic relations with him in principle. he didn’t even think about it, didn’t think about how their connection looks to strangers, and he wasn’t interested in it anyway. until the time when kylian had ruined his system of values and ideas about the structure of his environment, he hadn’t thought about anything like this at all. julian closed his eyes and slid a palm over his wrist under the sleeve, stroking the skin with his fingers. presnel was so driven by his initiative, even if it was shown in such tiny portions ...  
they were already on saint-ferdinand street - cherry blossoms were blooming here in april, but now the street was decorated only with night lights. presnel gruffly grabbed his arm and bit his wrist. julian laughed and pulled away. it was so easy with presnel, julian somehow magically straightened his shoulders, and even serious problems faded to black. julian memorised his tattoos and manners, and when he thought about france, images appeared in his mind: a club, fluttering red and blue flags in loudly chanting stands, lights on eiffel tower, presnel. luxurious cuisine, soft guttural language, night trips around the festive city. presnel. blue shirt and dark skin. presnel.  
presnel was growing into him, his blood flowed in julian’s veins, his bones were parts of julian’s bones, and his heartbeat resonated with julian’s. he couldn’t explain it. to anyone.  
presnel roared throatily and twisted the steering wheel to argentine street. julian smiled to himself. kimpembe has hot blood and a hot head, while julian was able to hide his feelings. presnel drove him to his home. paris flew past the windows, and julian’s fingers were flying over kim’s knee, completely ignoring his “don’t test me, babe”. excessive speed, partynextdoor blasted in speakers, blurred kisses and insane thirst for life rising from the depths of consciousness - aesthetics for today.  
he can’t explain it./

/kylian  
after the game with liverpool everyone gets drunk, which is not surprising - having secured their participation in the spring league stage, they fully deserved their portion of triumph. champagne flows like a river, and after a few minutes, everyone becomes sticky and alcoholised. kylian hugs everyone indiscriminately, has some meaningless words with everyone, dances to the tracks from kimpembe’s speaker and has fun with everyone. he’s warm from champagne, and his head is slightly heavy and dizzy. he wants to hug the whole world. these are only weak echoes of euphoria, in which he was immersed after winning the world cup, but still he’s absolutely happy. each member of the team now seems to him relative and natal, like a brother. of course, there was still an away match with red star, but, to be honest, no one was afraid of this game seriously (in vain, because anything can happen in football), the thing is that the main obstacle - liverpool - was left behind them.  
kylian wanders with his glassy and wide opened eyes around the room, squeezing a half-empty glass in an unruly hand, and half-listening to something that moussa excitedly tells him. he suddenly realises, unexpectedly clear, as if being sober, whom he unwittingly tries to find among the flickering backs and faces of his comrades - even in such a state far from sanity. déjà vu. “don’t do anything stupid,” he says to himself in the voice of thomas tuchel, but these words sound somehow blank and weightless, as if spoken only for the sake of decency.  
after a while they get close. kylian doesn’t catch on how it happens - he approached julian, julian approached him, gravity worked in a horizontal direction - around them both there are already other people, someone hugs kylian by the shoulders, and, looking back, he realises that this is meunier, talking to di maria and neymar. julian also talks to someone else - kylian cannot and doesn’t want to identify with whom and about what. he thinks about how to send everyone the fuck out of here (he later concludes that he’s bold and insane enough to try to put this idea into practice, but, fortunately, he never tried) and to stay with julian alone. they’re standing so close that kylian almost feels the warmth of his body — on his fingers. julian, gesticulating, waving his hands, touches kylian and immediately apologises, rubs his forearm and returns to the conversation (with marco). kylian takes another sip, wincing. he wants to go out. he wants julian to come out to follow him. laughter vibrates in the chest at the very throat - let thomas and neymar think that he listens to them and understands what they’re talking about. chances, words and moments escape from him with every minute. clutching at them, kylian only floats away.  
...julian overtakes him in the darkness of long corridors - kylian leaned his head against the wall weakly, reviving an image of the piercing gaze of fresh brown eyes. random touch of thighs. thick, warm voice. “i don’t doubt you” in the phone. he groans, covering his face with his hands.  
a crisis.  
he senses someone’s approaching at once and in a panic bounces off the wall, as if fearing that someone will find him in such a state. julian leans on him immediately and suddenly, filling up all his personal space - he comes up, stops at a distance of several steps. in a whisper:  
“everything’s okay?”  
“yes,” kylian breathed out quietly. julian nodded. in the twilight kylian couldn’t make out his face. they were standing, not moving, silently. dead point, nkunku said. you need movement. the cold pours from the back of the head down his body, the head is heavy, everything inside is trembling. he steps forward, tearing the space between them. julian jerks a little, as if he wanted to take a step back, but restrains himself and remains standing. kylian senses his alertness at the tip of his tongue. the heart is pounding in the throat and in the ears. he feels how julian slightly raises his hands, touching his forearms elusively — a gentle warning, and kylian is almost ready to retreat. but then he remembers: “you can’t stand on the dead centre forever. act.”.  
kylian grabs him by the neck and shoulders, pressing his lips in a desperate, almost pleading impulse - the blood roars under his skin, the insides melt and mix into porridge. in a feverish attempt to quench his thirst, he presses even harder to get more, to get filled with julian at least for a short time, going nuts because of julian’s passive resistance. but julian only sighs lightly, takes his face with one hand to push away - and then to kiss softer and slower, pressing him closer by his back. kylian’s bones instantly turn into clay heated by the sun. julian steps forward, pressing him against the wall. the kiss breaks; they both breathe heavily, and julian gently strokes his back. kylian breaks his soft attempt to pull away, finds his mouth again, slightly moist and parted, slides his hand under his t-shirt, frantically caressing his warm muscular stomach. julian kisses back disconnectedly, grabbing his wrist. kylian turns around, gasping for breath: “jule! ..”, appealingly throws back his head, opening his neck - julian burns him with uneven breath, kisses the jawline and the vein under the adam's apple.  
“kylian,” he says hardly audibly. trying to stop him again. goosebumps roll over kylian’s shoulders, and he only digs his fingers into julian’s back. “kylian, that’s enough, what are we doing?” and spreads his hips with his hand, getting in between them. kylian wraps his legs around his torso, trembling with desire, julian caresses the inner side of his thigh – teases him, and kisses his neck like a girl. kylian whines miserably, clinging to julian’s back, shoulders, head — nirvana is taking him like a tenth wave – julian exhaling his name mixed with strong language in a semi-consciousness is a final straw.  
kylian sharply opens his eyes, panting, with his hips still cramped, covered in sweat and with an abominable weight in his body. his head hurts so much it feels like it’s going to split. yesterday there was a match with liverpool. yesterday they got drunk like pigs. yesterday ... he didn’t remember when he passed out. the dream was still around him, he still felt it on the skin. it was so real.  
kylian has never dreamed of something so realistic.  
he gazed blindly at the dark ceiling, gradually remembering where he was and how he got here.  
it could no longer go on like this.  
his own mind was mocking him, preventing him from concentrating on more important things. kylian never thought that he’d seriously fear a nervous breakdown, and even more so for such a reason - but now the threat no longer seemed to him so hypothetical.  
still it was necessary to ask thilo and nkunku to forget about everything and not to interfere again.  
until someone else finds out./

/kylian  
the next two games become a real disaster. first, they interrupt the line of parisian victories that have long and confidently been lasting, but a draw is something that they actually can survive. they play, in general, not bad, as far as kylian can judge from his point of view, but the feeling of some kind of inconsistency, lack of agreement doesn’t leave him throughout the match against bordeaux. he scores, but it doesn’t bring any relief. after the game, everyone is depressed and sullen, the trainer, with a slightly yellow face, entered the dressing room jerky, greeting his teeth, looked tensely at the football players, as withered as dried fish, lazily swarming around their lockers, but then, shaking his head with annoyance, decided that lectures were meaningless.  
“we cannot back down now,” he said forcefully. his words echoed loudly inside kylian’s brain while he was straightening his t-shirt automatically. they all started talking in low voices, arguing something, explaining, although these futile excuses were absolutely unnecessary for tuchel. he angrily calmed his team:  
“this should be a good lesson for us.”  
but on wednesday things are going even sadder, and kylian clearly sees and feels it from the very first minutes, sitting on the bench. even without entering the field, he still feels the team, the field and his opponent - just as a person continues to feel a jewellery that he’s worn for years, but then decided to take it off. on an instinctive, subcortical level, kylian assesses their chances, trying to ignore the almost tangible feeling of apathetic nervousness that marked every movement of parisians. he watches the corner, and julian’s black-gloved hands, contrasting with a white t-shirt, impede him from concentrating on calculating possible attack development options. in general, today’s kit looks rather strange, but at the same time quite striking, so that it’s difficult to look away. kylian ponders over how generally acceptable it is to combine gloves with short sleeves, then abruptly interrupts himself, closely watching the opponent taking the ball, then again returns with his thoughts to julian, and tries to understand why this kit confuses him so much. penalty slightly brings him to his senses - feeble, he clenches his lips, angry at the team, at the coach, at the strasbourgh players, who are clearly providing them a completely tangible prospect of another draw or even a loss. he wants crazily on the field. there is nothing stronger than passion for his work, and therefore, when he changes clothes, he has only schemes and plans in his head. his body is fresh, the thirst for immediate action incite to run, to take away the ball, to pass, to score, and he drives himself hard, but today this is definitely not enough. a penalty kick from their side is carried out by cavani’s well-measured volley, but before that they line up at the goal, and julian flashes in front of him - a high reddened neck above a white collar, gloved wrists - kylian foolishly stared at him, with the stoic panic feeling his attention disappearing. a draw, penalties from both sides, the final whistle.  
a beautiful prologue to the champions league match./

/kylian  
everything develops, nevertheless, very successfully with the game against red star, and tuchel embraces him for a long time and laughs confusedly in his ear. kylian doesn’t mind – he’s still in the clouds after his own goal, literally in the last minutes, and therefore condescendingly allows other’s happiness to envelop himself, responding to the coach with exactly the same fire in his eyes. he hugs everyone and thanks the fans for the amazing support. the grass on the maracana is springy, although already pretty trampled after the match, and although kylian’s body is buzzing with fatigue, it’s difficult to suppress the desire to run, to tumble, to yell at all throats — euphoria fills his whole being, it’s hard to restrain himself. julian draxler, who spent most of the game sitting on the bench, looking at him the whole game, seeing his mad goal. once kylian accidentally gazed at him, turning around - julian was staring straight at him, leaning forward and putting his chin on his intertwined fingers, staring so intently and frankly that kylian felt freezing shivers down his back. he turned away and ran, joining the counterattack. the residual sensations from this look still enveloped him with a warm haze, and suddenly something huge and ribs-crushing collapsed on him — a feeling of monstrous, almost unbearably heavy excitement. and he sang hymns with his every movement - sometimes it turned out so beautifully that he wanted to relive this moment again, sometimes he lost his way, and, choking on the emotions, multiplied by the exultation of his comrades, he began anew. at some point they weren’t running anymore, leading the ball in front of them, to another goal - they were flying... neymar was flashing by his side, icarus.  
and julian. julian.  
his presence surrounded kylian, burned his back, drove faster and faster, and who was kylian to try to resist?..  
for the sake of such matches football exists./

/julian  
his goal, of course, is disallowed. julian knows this already when marco creeps across the field, snatching the ball from behind the line, but too late. there is no expected disappointment, there is only a light cheerful annoyance and unaccustomed excitement. the game is not the most brilliant, but they still triumph, secured by the chic skills of angel and kylian’s reaction. julian rejoices like a child, at the same time wondering why he feels so light. kylian, hugging di maria, looks at him with smiling bright eyes, proud and pleased with himself, and julian doesn’t have time to think, just smiles broadly in response and shows him his thumb up.  
the day before the match, kylian turns twenty; julian thinks for a long time whether to post their joint photo with a “joyeux anniversaire, frère” via instastory. he doesn’t even think about a full post. first, they are not really so close, and “not close” doesn’t mean that they don’t communicate or simply don’t get along, although recently their communication has been reduced to greetings, brief remarks on the case and traditional hugs after goals and victories.  
it’s not even kylian’s feelings (although partly it’s them, too). before all this shit started, they often made fun of each other and in general julian felt completely relaxed in kylian’s presence.  
the thing probably was that they were from different worlds.  
julian doesn’t post any stories and doesn’t even texts kylian in private messages. he cautiously congratulates him when they’re going to training, and the incident ends there.  
end of the year, it’s time to tamp down the results.  
in fact, it was far from the brightest year in julian’s life, both professionally and personally, but this heavy load somehow dissipated after playing with red star — julian just has turned his back to the past days. it wasn’t a turning point, but a long, sometimes painful, sometimes shocking learning process. the world hanging over him retreated and spun again in its rhythm - a rhythm in which julian draxler was nothing more than a tiny gear of a colossal mechanism.  
and now, again, after not the highest-level match, julian is somehow happy like a fool, obsessed with the desire to fall on the stadium grass and laugh deafeningly right into the sub-grey sky. he will leave soon. for a little while, for more than two weeks, but this will be enough to rethink, get something out of his head, decide, deal with everything and to return here collected anew.  
to come back home./

/julian  
thiago is exhausted; this is clearly seen in his downcast and muffled tone of voice when he gives a quick post-match interview. at least they could calmly change their clothes. kylian stands a little way off, clumsily shifting from foot to foot, also struggling with sleepiness - julian sees them from his corner of the locker room. fatigue after a whole year turned into exhaustion after today’s game. everyone was exhausted, all at once, so they didn’t even really discuss the match, but only agreed that they were playing fairly well, but this is absolutely not the right level of saint-germain. but they scored, and thank god.  
julian is already zipping his leather jacket, when he suddenly remembers that he needs to say goodbye to the coaching staff and some employees of the working staff. in principle, this doesn’t take much time, but the closer julian makes his way through handshakes and hugs to thomas tuchel, the sourer his benevolent smile becomes. and indeed, the premonition turned out to be true. thomas tuchel is somehow unnaturally pleased, meets julian with such enthusiasm, as if they hadn’t seen each other almost all this time, and immediately brings down an avalanche of questions - julian mentally howls and responds thoroughly to everything in turn.  
a few minutes later he finally manages to say goodbye for the twentieth and final time. apparently, the head coach still took into account his frequent significant views in the direction of the locker room, and took pity. almost everyone had already left the building, thomas came out, angrily fixed his bag on his shoulder, noticed julian and headed towards him. they hugged, julian mumbled something like “see you soon”, meunier wished him a good rest and left, and julian nervously looked around, immediately noticing kylian, who was hovering at the entrance to the mop closet, and a small group of brazilians and cavani with angel, discussing something very lively. and there’s no one to save him. thilo was one of the first to make tracks, and julian didn’t like something in his carefully suppressed smile, but he was too exhausted to ask questions.  
of course, there was still hope that kylian stayed waiting for neymar, or he wanted to talk to someone of the coaches, or simply forgot something, in the end.  
kylian looks frowningly with his round frog eyes, standing in the shadow of a small niche when julian approaches. for some time, they just stand, looking at each other, and this is essentially not the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened in julian’s life. but now he looks at kylian differently – he’s forced to look differently, after everything he learned and thought about - he attentively examines kylian’s face, as if for the first time, starting to perceive it somehow from the other side.  
kylian clears his throat, slightly lowering his head. obviously, he’s embarrassed by such close attention, and, probably, by the situation as a whole, but is trying to quickly hush it up:  
“well, then see you next year?”  
julian snorts accordingly, stretches his hand. kylian hesitates - too noticeably, but then, managing to control himself, squeezes his hand in response. nothing unusual, teammates say goodbyes. only julian’s suddenly itching. not having time to think, he turns their still intertwined hands horizontally and examines kylian’s fingers — long, slender fingers, a strong palm, a fine wrist wrapped by the watch strap. kylian is silent, a tangible tension around him is rapidly increasing. julian, in some kind of prostration, gently runs his thumb over the knuckles, slides down into the hollow between the index and middle fingers, deep in his heart being terrified by his own action, and only one thought spins in his subconscious: such beautiful hands. of a man, but still so skilfully carved. he carefully takes his hand away from under kylian’s one, moving his fingers along the inside of kylian’s palm for the last.  
slowly, he wakes up. kylian pants, continuing to hold his hand at the waist level, as if fearing that touches will disappear as soon as he relaxes. julian already panics - he almost unconsciously takes a step back, because kylian’s eyes are misty and heavy eyelids half-hide a viscous ink iris, that seems completely bottomless in sleepy languor. “fucking thilo,” floated id julian’s mind for no reason.  
fucking france.  
“drax,” with a sweet sensual torture in his voice, kylian exhales.  
end of the line.  
julian curses himself for this second inexplicable impulse - to examine kylian’s hand. as if he didn’t know how it would end, honestly. he always has to answer for his actions, so julian replies:  
“sorry.”  
he says:  
“have a good vacation.”  
he wishes a happy new year.  
he doesn’t pretend that nothing has happened, he simply doesn’t focus attention on it.  
but he didn’t take something into consideration - kylian is _also_ a man. and a dominant by nature.  
therefore, julian successfully misses the moment when he gets pulled by the jacket, pressed into the wall and hotly kissed, and he only mumbles in shock (the sound sinks inside kylian’s mouth). in general, kylian’s movements resemble a leap into the abyss with subsequent equivalent opportunities to either fly up or crash.  
maybe he thought that some of them could leave the course when they will be going to rest. or that one of them could drown, or get hit by a car, or be poisoned by foreign food. that they may not see one another again.  
and maybe he didn’t think at all, but acted purely on instinct, it’s not important at all.  
julian manages to break loose almost immediately. and immediately he comes across a heavily darkened kylian’s look - the recent bashfulness almost disappeared, leaving only a barely noticeable blush on his swarthy cheeks and neck - and he doesn’t have time to do anything else, because kylian takes his face and covers his mouth with his own once again, using julian’s numbness while simultaneously making his way with his other hand under julian’s sweater. thoughts in julian’s head flash at a feverish pace, hysterical question of why the hell he doesn’t stop all this, remains unanswered - beautiful thin hands openly stroke his stomach. muscles involuntarily shrink at these touches - kylian teasingly leads his thumb down the hollow between julian’s abs - to the very edge of his trousers. julian automatically grabs his wrist, trying to disengage from the wet smacking sounds driving him to the edge, twists his neck and pushes kylian closer to the inner corner, where it’s easier to break free. it would be naive to claim that a young, heated body, pressed tightly against his own, made no impression on him. in the corner he really manages to partially free himself - just a little, not as planned. now kylian is pinned against the wall, and julian’s thigh is stuck between his legs - more precisely, it’s kylian squeezing him, reflexively or intentionally, and again:  
“dra-a-ax,” – a half-moan.  
“let go,” julian jerked, kylian shivered and leaned forward, silently opening his mouth and clutching julian’s shoulder. damn, damn, damn - a continuous running line inside the head. the taught pulsating lump down his stomach tightened all the more, and kylian, heavily sniffing right into his ear and unconsciously swinging this hips, wasn’t helping the situation at all. julian breathed out, leaving a few indiscriminate kisses along the line of kylian’s jaw - kylian obediently lifted his head, opening his neck, and julian pressed his lips under his adam’s apple no less obediently, unable to tear himself away from the hot elastic skin that smelled freshly and still boyishly. his own heartbeat was pounding somewhere in his ears.  
they were kissing quite sloppy already; julian rudely moved his knee, spreading kylian’s legs to the sides, perfectly well aware that from this point he could no longer stop (cuts off his own way to retreat). kylian leaned heavily on his shoulders, lifting himself up the wall higher, and firmly wrapped his strong legs around julian’s waist, immediately began to hiss from direct contact. he threw his head back, hitting the wall, and stared at julian - half-lowered eyelids, thick, oppressive gaze of hazy, glossy glistening eyes, framed by the shadow - and smoothly pushed forward with his pelvis, - he was teasing, such a bastard, julian was absolutely in no need of such seductions. he pressed himself into kylian with his whole body, so that he hardly saw stars, caught his ragged breath, grabbed his plump lower lip with his teeth, pulling it off, abruptly jerked away as soon as kylian tried to turn it all into a kiss - anger boiled in him like lava in the crater of a volcano, righteous, fair anger at himself and at this juvenile moron at the same time, because even without thinking about the real reasons, it was immediately clear that they can’t do that, not allowed to do that. kylian kicked, grabbing his cheeks, and forcibly pulled him closer. an awkward and very strange scuffling ensued, but kylian still managed to peck him on the lips, and then again and again; julian angrily snapped back, feeling the rest of self-control dispersing - he gave up, digging into the hot wet mouth, slid his hand under the soft fabric of the sweatshirt, knocking a convulsive sob out of kylian.  
they were grinding against each other, like animals, kylian mumbled some nonsense that was slipping past julian’s hearing, woven into the ornament of heavy breathing, rustling clothes and obscene sounds of kisses. it became completely dark, the air and the space between them thickened too, got warmer - without thinking of anything, julian pressed his lips to his tense sweaty neck, while kylian’s greedy palms hastily examined his back, neck, shoulders. something grew inside, swelled and boiled, but kylian suddenly jerked up, his head thrown back, choking with his own cry, painfully pressing julian to himself, gasped for breath:  
“je t’aime, j’aiiii ..!” he swallowed sounds and julian’s breathing mixed with unrestrained curses, while julian’s whole world exploded around him.  
thunderstruck, he automatically tried to throw off a heavy weight - kylian hit the deck and struggled to keep his feet, clutching the wall. julian stared blankly at one point, still not fully convinced that they hadn’t stopped this disgrace in time. teenage frottage against the wall a few meters away from the locker room.  
“the first and the last time,” julian says curtly, looking straight into his eyes. diligently ignoring a “je t’aime”, still ringing in the ears.  
kylian scrutinises his face carefully, until pain slowly creeps in on his own one, the luminous light from the corridor reflected in his huge black eyes (the portal back to reality). he nodded, his movements stiffened, sharpened:  
“of course.”  
julian couldn’t turn his back to him now. shouldn’t have. but he did.  
he turned and walked away./

/kylian  
and so this aspect of his life acquires such a bitter outcome - although, if you think about it, it was the only option that should not be ruled out. kylian didn’t remember exactly the way home, nor his thoughts after. he stared blankly at the wall, waiting for his mind and mental strength to come back, for a sharp spasm that clenched his throat to recede and allow him to calmly inhale, and automatically counted seconds, and they were falling heavily to his feet, friable and liquid like sour jelly. it’s not the first time to go beyond his own capabilities - kylian with a titanic effort detaches himself from the wall, inhales deeply, measuredly, as he forces himself to do every time on the race track, ignores the unbearable burning sensation in the eye-pits and throat. shakes himself, takes off his jacket, ties it to his belt. gets his phone, calls his chauffeur, trying not to notice how heavy and hardly obeying is his body. he goes out of the niche and heads to the exit. sometimes he meets people from the staff - everyone is fussy and joyful on the eve of the holidays, they wish him to have a good rest, he answers something unintelligible.  
in a few hours, they set out to the maldives, and by that time kylian is ok. he thinks about two weeks of heat and ocean, about the most beloved people with whom it will be possible to spend so many days, and about parties. about the upcoming ethan’s birthday. these thoughts are his shield. the farther they fly away from paris, the easier it becomes to breathe, the deeper the painful, rending disappointment recedes into the subconscious, giving a deceptive release. he knows that he won’t be able to defend forever, but now it’s too much to bear, and therefore he just focuses on his family and the upcoming holidays.  
… and in the night he just wants to tear off his skin./

/julian  
it’s cold and gloomy in camp des loges, and julian, who has been fed up with the heat and humidity of south africa in recent days, passionately wanted back, barely stepping on the damp grass of the field. the holidays passed quickly and interestingly, and returning to the usual disciplined routine of training, playing and healthy nurturing was a bit of a burden, although julian had to admit to himself that he missed the ball and the breath-taking vastness of his native stadium. familiar faces around him, the sultry comfort of the dressing rooms and france, long studied and still not familiar - julian heartened, breathed deeply and tried to keep the bright, vivid feeling of being home. he failed soon. the gloomy weather did not help, and the body, weaned off from regular physical exertion, rather quickly pleaded for a pause. kylian, having fun with neymar, was constantly in his field of vision.  
during the whole holidays, julian stubbornly and methodically drove away from himself the thoughts of what they had done, generously flavoured with an intolerable sense of shame and regret, but the result was always the same: he gave up and started thinking about it. the vile feeling that he took advantage of kylian’s defencelessness in front of him, prevented him from sleeping peacefully. as well as the blurry images of hot, chiselled hands gliding over his body and the ill-fated diabolical “i love you” that escaped from kylian with a moan of orgasm and finally cut off any paths of retreat to them both. and julian was also locked in this trap along with him. there were many reasons to hate kylian, many reasons, justified or completely foolish, but most of it all julian hated his own role in this performance, because he was an actor who didn’t know any of his remarks and therefore was desperately improvising, mistaking more and more with every word.  
julian didn’t want to fall with him, but it seems that he missed the moment when it was safe to move away from the edge.  
they play with pontivy, and the game - to be honest - is disgusting, in spite of quite a decent result. by the end of the game, everything becomes a little better, and neymar’s chic pass becomes for julian the culmination - and he puts a bold suggestive dot in this game. flushed, he wraps his arms around the necks of dani and neymar, and suddenly he thinks that neymar’s dreadlocks aren’t as terrible as it seemed at first. that he, in general, even looks good with it.  
however, they pass on. with pain and misery, the first match of 2019 could be called successful, and julian had some strange feeling that this season would be very, very productive for them./

/julian  
“kim …”  
presnel cut short his weak attempt to say something intelligible. but he pressed him closer to someone’s locker and kissed him hard, again, although his lips were already bloodshot and swollen.  
“you want to talk, babe,” he murmured hoarsely, nuzzling his nose under his ear. “discuss the match?” he sharply squeezed julian’s ass, pulling him at himself, julian hissed. “well, then i think the match turned out fucking great.”  
it was hard not to agree. julian didn’t even take the shameful loss last wednesday seriously - a joke, three penalties in thirty minutes! - and then a burning sense of injustice and resentment almost forced him to talk nasty things in a post-match interview. needless to say, it didn’t hurt him alone, and today the whole team readily knocked unfortunate guingamp out, who no longer defended themselves seriously after the third goal.  
worthy of a rematch, we pulled it off, indeed. “they’ve put on airs,” neymar happily said, as soon as their noisy screaming crowd tumbled into the locker room, and shining tuchel, trying to remain respectable and objective, briefly summed up the game in his interview.  
julian chuckled accordingly, and, pulling back the gum of presnel’s shorts, painfully clicked on his skin with it. presnel sucked in the air. he excitedly laughed, pulled julian closer, caressing his back under the shirt with pressure:  
“don’t test me, babe.”  
all the lamps were on in the dressing room, but there was no one but two of them. in connection with recent events, julian swore to hide away with presnel within the training centre, but here we are again. it was hard to refuse presnel — especially when he walked on julian with clenched fists and with such a tense, concentrated face, as if he was going to kick him in the face, threw himself at him and kissed him with such a mad pressure. presnel was all inside out, and all his scorching, almost unhealthy craving for julian was clearly in sight. even at the camera’s point of view, even on the field or in front of the club’s staff, presnel often touched him, made fun of him, called “babe” without hiding, and julian sometimes thought that the principle “if you want to hide the truth, hide it in front of everyone” is quite effective. despite the fact that everyone was just crazy in social networks, all they had to do was post a joint photo or to appear together in one of the “no comment” editions – and everyone made cute short videos accompanied by romantic music and were sure that they were together, but most of them didn’t seriously doubt they’re just very close friends.  
presnel was brushing abruptly his sides, his ribs, looking into his eyes and continuing to rhythmically move his hips forward. julian’s head was spinning and burning, his face, neck, ears — it was terribly amusing for presnel. he easily pulled his hot ear, laughed in his usual shrill laughter, and julian, with sudden dismay, feeling the sudden irritation, hurried, reluctantly pulling on presnel’s t-shirt, forcing presnel to lean back and to take it off. presnel threw the t-shirt somewhere off to the side, clasping julian again and pressing him to the locker, bit his shoulder painfully, kissed him softly on the lips in contrast, immediately losing his head again and ardently, furiously crumpling his mouth. julian choked and frantically moved his hips. both of them were sweating; julian panted, grabbing short breaths between deep wet kisses. impulsively he stroked presnel’s tattooed strong hands, reflexively outlining the familiar drawings. presnel grabbed him under the thighs. julian gripped his neck, impatiently fidgeting, buried his fingers in his short wiry curls. not a single sane thought remained in his head. presnel pressed himself into him:  
“say my name,” his voice was husky and lowered, julian started slightly from the blatant audacity of this sudden demand and blushed, feeling the blood in his ears loudly knocking. trying to divert presnel, he smooched him in the corner of his mouth, moved to the clear line of his chin, to the cheekbone, to his ear, but presnel didn’t succumb to it:  
“say my name, babe,” he grinned, unconscionably, pleased with julian's embarrassment.  
“no,” julian hissed loudly and twitched away, not allowing presnel to hold his face. it was, of course, only whipping kimpembe up - methodically breaking julian’s stubborn resistance, forcing him to lose his head from it, wanting him to blush about one memory of that. julian squeezed his forearm, biting his lips and closing his eyes – presnel was deliberately slowly squeezing him through his trousers, his blurred eyes never left julian’s:  
“say what my name is, julian,” his own distorted name suddenly hurt julian’s ears, “who makes you feel so good, babe?”  
“presnel,” julian exhaled, surrendering. he threw his head back, barely holding back the sounds that were tearing from his chest, because presnel whispered with satisfaction:  
“like that, babe,” and slid his hand under his belt, pressing his hungry lips to the defenceless neck. julian opened his eyes and squeezed his shoulders, again, unable to restrain himself, called out:  
“presko-o!..”  
“yes,” presnel responded in a choking voice, picking up the pace. every julian’s cell was burning, but then suddenly the huge, full of icy horror round eyes on the face that flashed in the doorway just pinned down his whole body, raising his hair with blasts. it was like he got burning cold water splashed down his collar. heavy breathing and humid sounds from the contact of their bodies drowned out everything that was happening outside, but julian heard the feverish footsteps crystal clearly. he jerked:  
“presnel, he saw us!” presnel, immediately feeling his stupor, broke away from his neck and slightly retreated.  
“who?” he quickly turned around, as if hoping that the uninvited guest was still standing on the threshold and waiting for attention to be paid to him.  
“kylian,” julian whispered, doomed, struggling with an inexplicable despair that had filled him. the story was repeating itself again. why, of all the people who could pass by, it had to be exactly kylian, especially after what happened in a niche not far from here about a month ago?  
kylian’s darkened face covered with sweat, crushed by pain after his “this is the first and last time”, appeared inappropriately inside his memory.  
“i’ll talk to him,” kimpembe said in a low voice, finally letting julian go. “don’t worry, he’s a smart boy, he won’t fool around.”  
“i’ll do it”, julian objected too hastily. presnel hesitated, glaring at julian with obvious doubt - in fact, for what reason? they grew up in the same country with kylian, were teammates, and indeed seemed to be on the same wavelength. and nothing special connected him with julian, and there wasn’t much friendly intimacy between them either.  
“i will,” julian repeated with pressure, with horror imagining the consequences of kylian’s conversation with kimpembe.  
every day everything was messing up only more, and it was really necessary to do something./

/thilo  
“whoa-a-h, dude, be careful,” thilo raised his hands and held kylian, who had crashed into him at full speed. “whom are you rushing like that from?”  
kylian abruptly shook his head, nervously freeing himself from him, and took a step back. thilo, frowning, quickly noted the lost expression of wide-open eyes, ragged movements and strained, petrified facial features - something happened. without a word, he gently took kylian by the elbow and dragged him into the back room. kylian didn’t break out, as if sharply exhausted, and this only alerted thilo even more.  
“what happened?” he asked quietly when the door closed behind them, plunging them both into dusty gloom. kylian shook his head, pursing his lips in annoyance. anything could have happened, but the way kylian tried to hide the painful discomfort that his every movement screamed of, allowed thilo to guess what was the matter.  
“julian?”  
“well, shit,” kylian breathed out hopelessly, as if even diminishing in height, and covered his face with his hands. thilo watched him with growing alarm.  
it was clear - kylian couldn’t cope.  
“i think i’m going to go nuts soon,” kylian said without taking away his hands from his face. his voice quivered slightly.  
the games are over, it’s time to decide everything once and for all.  
thilo stepped up to him, pulled his wrists apart to see his eyes:  
“kylian, enough. he’s with kimpembe, and they don’t even have a relationship, but a symbiosis, it wouldn’t ever work. there are thousands of cool girls and guys in the world who dream of getting into your bed, so if you need it, forget julian with one of them, but just move on. it can’t continue like this.”  
“he’s there with kimpembe,” kylian whispered deliriously, grabbing his hands painfully. “they’re fucking there right next to my locker, thilo, why indeed i should have seen it?”  
kylian was trembling, his eyes were wide and shimmering wet, although there were no tears - pure exhaustion from a non-mutual desire, exhaustion of love fever. the weariness of constantly fed jealousy. thilo carefully took his hands out of his desperate grip and said rationally:  
“he has the right to do so.”  
kylian was silent. the bitter truth is like a sober slap in the face, a necessary, albeit painful measure.  
“he’s not obliged to love you, kylian. he doesn’t owe you anything at all.”  
kylian pursed his lips stubbornly. he tried to say something, but seemed to cut himself off. then he shook his head, taking a few steps back, and looked helplessly around, as if looking for something to cling to. thilo’s heart was breaking.  
but he didn’t know how to help./

/julian  
he runs around the building in search of kylian for at least half an hour, but all is in vain. notionally, this was to be expected. he froze in the middle of the corridor on the second floor, panicked about what to do next. the thought to call kylian flashed, and if he doesn’t pick up the phone, ask someone from the coaching staff or management to call him - and then he abruptly cut himself off. for what reason? first, kylian knew about them with kimpembe - if you believe thilo, he saw them before. secondly, julian is under no obligation to him, and, in fact, there is nothing to justify himself for.  
the feeling of irregularity, some kind of irrational guilt didn’t give julian any peace, just as the clear need to explain himself - ridiculous. what will julian tell him?  
i’m sorry you saw it?  
sorry that i sleep with our teammate?  
overcoming himself, julian goes home.  
he expects a match with strasbourg without much enthusiasm, and in a few days hardly forces himself to prepare for a training session. after warming up, they start to exercise, and then stand in a circle and work out the passes. somehow, kylian is next to him, on his left hand, and julian is just physically uncomfortable. he pretends that nothing unusual happens, as kylian does, barely restraining himself to not change places with someone. moreover - in a few minutes they are together in the centre, forced to fulfil the role of the rival players. a couple of times they bump into each other, but both don’t focus any attention on this, rapidly returning to knocking the ball out of the circle.  
and the next day, the pre-match, snow falls, and absolutely adult, self-sufficient men in the blink of an eye turn into enthusiastic five-year olds, who saw the snow for the first time. exercise is transferred to the inside. at first, julian is quite sceptical - throwing a ball over a table tennis – not much of a cool pastime, but then he changes his mind. it’s warm inside, there is no kylian in the training, and throwing the ball over the table is quite fun.  
kylian’s not the squad for the match too, julian didn’t even really understand why, but he’s decided that it was for the best. for a while they should avoid each other. kylian will just be able to cool down and get out of his head what he saw. julian, of course, understood that no one would get anything out of his head, but at least he hoped that during the rest kylian would gain strength and continue to pretend that nothing had happened.  
the match itself doesn’t stick to his memory by anything except for the unrealised desire to score. and yet neymar is eliminated from the game with the next damage. shortly before the match with manchester, this is very, very disturbing news, although julian didn’t see how he was injured - perhaps nothing serious, he’ll have to miss subsequent matches of the league and the french cup, to be surely in absolute order for manchester.  
kylian’s not in the stands and not in the field, and on the one hand julian is calmer. on the other, he is in complete ignorance of what kylian does and with whom he communicates. who knows what might come to his head? if he were here, it would be easier to control the situation. julian understands that he has no motive to tell anyone, but he did not fully understand kylian’s reaction, therefore it is difficult to draw any conclusions.  
“heard neymar is out for ten weeks,” eric caught up with him, throwing a bag over his shoulder. said it in a fallen voice, sensibly assessing his own chances and the scale of loss for a team of a player like neymar. it was bad.  
really bad.  
“tuchel said?” julian asked. eric nodded. julian shivered, buttoning his jacket up to his throat. the game with manchester united seemed to him as something distant and even hypothetical, and the news about neymar made him finally accept this match as a very real, rapidly approaching and extremely important event.  
“everything is against us,” julian muttered and wrapped himself in the collar of his jacket. for some reason vigorous angel jumped out to meet them, and julian experienced a suddenly gloomy gloating, shouting:  
“neymar’s out, you know?” the foolish grin of di maria has somewhat faded, although julian didn’t achieve the expected effect.  
“what’s up?” di maria asked, having reached them and following their direction.  
“who the hell knows,” eric shrugged, significantly upset. “something with an ankle, it seems. tuchel himself doesn’t know fully.” julian was boiling with anger. why the hell does everyone act as if neymar is the only chance for a team to win? as if he is the only capable player?  
“oh well,” angel said reassuringly, as if he overheard julian’s thoughts, boiling with righteous indignation. “there is still edi, and kylian, and me,” he gave a puffy smile, and in that smile julian suddenly saw the shadow of his undisguised malicious dislike and resentment to his former club.” and drax,” he nodded at julian, “and you,” - at eric.  
“if the whole team were shit, no neymar would save it,” he added, since both julian and eric were thoughtfully silent. they reached the main exit, and eric, waking up, turned to julian:  
“i give you a ride?”  
“no,” julian shook his head, lazily pulling his phone out of his pocket. “go, i’ll call roger.”  
erik nodded, patted him on the shoulder, and pushed the heavy, glassed door, letting in a fresh evening wind. julian looked at his back until he got into the car. several of the stadium employees hurried past them. roger didn’t pick up.  
“well, then,” di maria said, smiling, forcing julian to turn to him. “about manchester united...”/

/kylian  
rennes striker’s foot in a black boot crashes into thilo’s ankle in a tackle, arching it to an unnatural angle to the outside, but although kylian saw everything crystal clearly, he was much more scared by his heart-rending cry, his twisted body rolled several times on the ground. the game stopped instantly; their players and others rushed to the referee, who ran to the thilo and nyang, who was already furiously justifying himself, and kylian seemed numb, only automatically moving to the crowd. the thought that for thilo everything could be over right now made him grow cold. with wooden steps, he comes closer, finally, and only then he’s relieved - thilo, who has just miraculously escaped the most dangerous injury, is already sitting, surrounded by players. and then the rage comes. kylian knows what fouls are, knows what unsuccessful falls are simply because some bastard wants to prevent you from dribbling. knows what is a painful shock from an elbow in the face or a boot on the legs. he hates fouls. he hates those who foul. this asshole deserved a red. and kylian approaches the referee and interprets all this to him – that haven’t you see, he could end his career because of this, that it was an absolutely intentional and absolutely inhuman gesture, that it can’t be ignored. part of him - he despises this part, which is responsible for pragmatic and analytical thinking, but - wonders about the chances and possible options for an attack, if the referee decides to give them a penalty. he can do nothing. the habit of always thinking about the game, about the strategy, is stuck in the cortex tightly.  
everyone is talking around him - the parisians demand proper punishment for the violator, the opponents are actively defending this violator. in the end the referee goes to revise the episode. kylian impatiently waits. only now he notices julian nearby - he has a pale, concentrated face, leaning towards thilo, saying something and helping to get up. a shrill, almost physically hurtful melancholy suddenly hits kylian. for some reason, he remembers the match with bordeaux in december - then someone knocked him too, nothing serious, and julian, laughing, went to check whether he was in order, easily touching his knee, and helped him up. kylian then had butterflies in his stomach, not kites, and he jumped up, joyful and winged, from julian’s laughter and warm ease with which they had always communicated, which was not yet spoiled by kylian’s passion. but the returning referee saves him from these memories. he gives a yellow. kylian wants to laugh hysterically - absurdity, you saw everything, idiot, from all angles! a yellow? but he only shakes his head and returns to the match.  
everything is a little blurred, but then julian finds his eyes, and kylian almost stumbles: he reads a pass in his intense gaze, picks it up almost on the fly, and finally scores. he doesn’t remember moments of triumph - perhaps this is the reason why they never get tired of experiencing them. cavani and angel hang on him from both sides, then dani and julian run up. they don’t even touch, but julian quickly pats his shoulder, and kylian slightly butts julian’s chest with his head. something rings thinly somewhere under his throat. he wants to run in circles, sing along with the fans, do the cartwheels.  
maybe not everything is lost yet?  
and then they lose to lyon.  
julian passes the ball to him - the pass is good, accurate, no one gets in its way - and he misses this chance.  
and then another. and another.  
the whole team seemed to have entered the field for the first time, but kylian feels a burden of personal responsibility. disappointment is too great.  
this is how the chain of their regular victories is broken./

/kylian  
neymar turns twenty-seven, and, of course, despite a serious injury, a grand party was planned for the evening, even more luxurious than last year. not to say that kylian was in a great mood to have fun, but he had no choice. besides, maybe right now it would be useful for him to relax and rest. around four, neymar calls and invites him to his place, and kylian’s spirit immediately noticeably lifts - neymar always has a lot of people at home, it’s noisy, music is playing, tv and lights are on, and for some reason kylian liked this atmosphere, even though most of those present were unfamiliar to him. maybe because behind the numerous friends and appearances to so many events, the huge guest lists for his holidays and many joint photos, neymar was hiding his illogical, inexplicable loneliness. he often flew to bazil and his family members also often came to visit him, because he was unbearably yearning for the very concept of “family.” maybe that’s why he caught on to paris so much - he found a home here.  
they play fifa, they laugh like crazy, throwing jokes in a mixture of french, english and spanish, and along the way neymar tells him that five hundred people are invited, that the dress code is bright red and that there will be safadan and bob sinclar. kylian, of course, doesn’t know any safadan; moreover, he’s imprudent enough to report it to neymar. neymar stares at him as if kylian confessed that he has no idea who ronaldinho is. or barack obama. it’s like knowing a brazilian pop singer is a sacred duty to every self-respecting person. he takes off and, having jumped on a healthy foot to the musical installation, turns this safadan on. at full volume. and then begins to dance - as he is, on one leg. kylian laughs because neymar knows two things at the highest level — how to play football and to make people laugh, even in dark times, even when he has a fracture of the metatarsal bone.  
having danced enough, he lowers himself next to kylian on the carpet, and then, leaning forward, speaks on the verge of hearing:  
“i wanted to cancel the party. i’m still not sure i want to celebrate”  
kylian is silent. he is not very good at comforting people, even when a person clearly needs at least some encouragement. he puts his hand on neymar’s shoulder and easily pats it. neymar catches his palm and squeezes for a few seconds - kylian shrinks, unaccustomed to such overt manifestations of closeness - and lets go.  
“of course, it’s worth it,” kylian says, trying to reach out to neymar through his own awkwardness. “make it even louder than last year, so that people only talk about your holiday.”  
neymar gives him a wry grin.  
… he’s standing perplexed in his dressing room, aimlessly going through numerous hangers, although it has long been clear that he doesn’t have a red suit. there is a bunch of red items of clothing - trousers, sweatshirts, t-shirts, even a few shirts, but he wants to go in a suit. not in a tuxedo, so as not to look too formal, with a white t-shirt and white sneakers - kylian already sees himself in this outfit, and here you are.  
“will you hang around there for a long time?” mother’s annoyed voice reached him. a second later, she appeared in the doorway and looked inquiringly at her son, helplessly frozen in a huge room full of clothes and shoes.  
“mom, i don’t have any suit,” kylian plaintively bleated. mom was already on the edge, and he doesn’t want to irritate her even more, but there was nothing else to do. mom stoically sighed and covered her forehead with her hand:  
“i told you to look for it in the evening, you!”  
eventually, she left urgently to call her husband to ask him to run into the boutique and buy kylian a suit, while kylian remained standing next to the watches organiser, nervously twirling the unico king gold in his fingers, recently received as a gift from the company. the inappropriate excitement that came from out of nowhere made him feel a little nauseous. he put the watch aside, for some reason opened an organiser with ties, although he wasn’t going to wear them today, walked to the shoe shelves and pulled out his favourite white nikes. there was a sharp jingle downstairs - father arrived with a suit. with incredible relief, kylian grabbed his sneakers and the watch and ran downstairs, mentally praying for the suit to be at least approximately as he imagined.  
... it’s warm in the car, stuffy and smells of sugary coconut flavouring. kylian buckles up and leans back, trying to look as calm as possible. after a few minutes, he catches himself convulsively twitching the edge of his jacket with his fingers, and quickly stops. josep threw eloquent looks at him several times, but fortunately didn’t say a word.  
the first forty minutes, while the party was just beginning to warm up, kylian felt a natural primary stiffness - he greeted everyone, got acquainted with neymar’s mother and some of his close friends, and assessed the situation. in the pavilion everything was luxuriously cleaned, of course, saturated red colours prevailed. angel, edinson, areola with wives arrive, agitated thilo (alone) appears. kylian records a short greeting to neymar when he’s found by tuchel with verratti, and by that time he begins to let go a little. when kylian is already making some inclinations towards champagne, julian arrives, wearing a black shirt and some kind of nightmarish velour jacket, and kylian gets once again convinced that love is blind. but at least now he can pretend that the desire to rip this jacket off of julian is dictated solely by his delicate aesthetic taste. they greet each other hastily, then the other teammates quickly gather around them, and they take a group photo, and then gradually go to different places.  
...finally, he gets tired and gets off the stage, although neymar and dani seem quite ready to scream brazilian songs for several hours, and he goes down to the hall. people are taking pictures of him, asking about something and telling something, but kylian is already really fun, he takes time with pleasure for everyone. they dance awkwardly with verratti, while some girl, bursting into laughter, records them and constantly calls for marco, prompting him to turn towards her. then the consciousness blurs a little, and kylian wakes up in a jerk, as if emerging from the water - the caesar restaurant owner asks him to take a picture of him with several friends, and kylian willingly directs the camera at them, but then he stumbles over julian who has crept up behind him - warm, nimble hands comfortably clasp his stomach, slightly stroking and hugging him, and he almost drops his camera.  
“i see you retrained,” julian purred dimly into his ear. he was clearly drunk, which was not surprising - there is hardly any absolutely sober person among those present here. kylian is also drunk and much more relaxed, but julian’s words and actions are terribly embarrassing him all the more since there are enough photographers at the party - at least three of them immediately captured this scene, and mehdi, already dissatisfied, took a few steps forward, but julian, laughing, lets kylian go and heads somewhere for the table with snacks, buttoning his jacket on the go. kylian automatically takes pictures, slowly falling into some kind of euphoria. after that he ceremoniously bows. in muscles there is still a pleasant weakness from julian hugs, a feeling of lightness from alcohol and a festive atmosphere only more strongly emphasise the sparkling heat spreading through the body.  
now even distant thoughts of caution and common sense evaporate. kylian sneaks through the crowd, carefully looking around, a pretty brunette gently holds him by the sleeve of his jacket:  
“sorry, where is the toilet?” kylian, slightly stooping, points. she smiles, and clings almost to his neck, whispering:  
“thank you very much.”  
kylian, a little taken aback, stands still for a second, until he snatches a tall figure in a wine-red velour jacket, which seems black in the semi-darkness, by the corner of his eye, and the heart immediately starts up like after a marathon. he pushes somebody, still trying to move not too desperately and purposefully, feeling the exciting spasms constricting his sternum with delight. he can hear julian’s voice talking to kevin and isabelle. feverishly inventing some reason to take him away, kylian finally made his way to a more rarefied place, where julian and kevin were standing. kevin noticed him and waved with his hand happily. julian turned to the movement, met kylian’s eyes - a reflection of neon red lighting flashed in his eyes. kylian was genuinely happy to see kevin again, but now he would prefer that he and his girlfriend weren’t around at all.  
“kyli!” kevin enthusiastically waved with his hand, smiling at all thirty-two. isabelle, stunningly beautiful and smiling, nodded to kylian, and kevin grabbed him into his bear embrace as soon as he got closer. kylian hiccupped in surprise, but then also hugged kevin, crushing the hard fabric of his jacket with sweaty hands. julian stood by and smiled a little. kevin pulled away and immediately began enthusiastically asking kylian about the news, at the same time talking about his life in frankfurt. kylian was responding somehow out of place, hoping that kevin would feel his reluctance to speak. julian thoughtfully shook up something in his glass, and then briefly, without addressing anyone, apologised and disappeared into the crowd. kylian, intensely looking out for him, barely restrained himself from rushing after him. to his great happiness, isabelle noticed some acquainted guests, and kevin, finally saying:  
“well, see you later!” followed his bride. kylian decided that isabelle is an incredible woman, and immediately moved in the direction where julian had gone.  
maybe it was a hidden hint..?/

/julian  
julian turned around. kylian stood behind him, ruddy, with glittering eyes, and looked straight into his face. déjà vu.  
“what?” he asked. kylian convulsively twitched his shoulder, as if interrupting himself in the middle of the movement, swung towards him, but julian caught him by the forearms and gently pushed him away. he was high, warm and foolishly merry, and he felt that deep inside, dark thoughts and desires, freed by wine, begin to stir up, and if to press a little, he won’t be able to refrain from some insane adventure. kylian just balanced on the thin side of his self-control. behind them, people were dancing and shouting loudly through dense bass, club lighting flickered, making it difficult to look at individual figures and turning everything into a blue-red mass. julian slowly raised his hand, even more slowly put it on kylian’s face. kylian was gazing at him, not moving and not blinking. he has left his jacket somewhere and now was in only white t-shirt tucked into red trousers, with his arms helplessly lowered along the body. julian was stroking his cheekbones, cheeks, in some kind of oblivion, with tenderness breaking his fingers, as if falling out of a populous reality. kylian intermittently, with a sob, sighed and, frightening julian with a sharp movement, covered his hand on his face, gently slipping his fingers along julian’s knuckles. and this movement made julian wake up.  
but not completely.  
unable to stop or at least think about stopping, he leaned down and almost chastely kissed kylian on the lips, and this time kylian didn’t try to go further. julian, not pulling away, carefully peered into his long-lightened eyes — kylian looked at him just as intently, trying to read everything that couldn’t be said or shown. he let go of his hand, and julian freely slid his palm down, pulled the corner of his lips with his thumb, forming a crooked smirk, and smiled vaguely. kylian, peering carefully at him, grinned uncertainly in response. julian suddenly felt his own heartbeat somewhere under the throat, and then a sickening wave of panic hit him. he quickly turned around and headed towards a large crowd of people, in no doubt that he would find acquaintances there with whom it would be possible to engage in a spontaneous conversation about anything and distract himself from the unpleasant anxious feeling.  
it’s not too late yet./

/julian  
kylian sneaks into his room the evening before the match with manchester. lurking in through the door left ajar, he hastily slammed it shut and freezes in indecision at the entrance: julian makes the bed. at the sound of hurried, cautious steps, he turns around in surprise, straight off spotting his teammate dressed in dark-blue pyjama, and sighs wearily. he’s still in training kit, zipped up to his throat. sleepiness overpowers him, dulling even the jim-jams before tomorrow’s match. white crispy sheets. kylian, frozen on the threshold like a salt pillar. julian feels rather bad, he’s in a total meltdown, and now the extra problems in the form of a french boy-genius, who just showed up to sort out the things between them in the middle of the night, were completely out of place.  
“hi,” kylian said in a low voice. he finally stepped closer and stopped near the protruding part of the wall, leaning on it, and fixed his dark gaze at julian.  
“what are you doing here?” julian asked in the same tone.  
“i came to see you,” kylian slowly swept his slightly narrowed eyes over him - he was nervous, not even trying to hide it. julian ruthlessly tried to suppress a sharp, piercingly bright feeling that suddenly erupted, and concentrated on the thought of the upcoming game, immediately feeling an unpleasant chill along the back of his head. substantial losses in the composition, the inconvenient position of the main attacker - kylian - the threat of disqualification of verratti and kehrer painted a not very happy and promising picture, although there was still hope.  
“you need to sleep,” julian replied slowly, gazing thoughtlessly through the wall.  
“you worry?” kylian asked even quieter, stepping closer and looking julian in the face - julian with difficulty turned a distracted glance at him, and noticed a reflection of his own intense thoughts in kylian’s features. the inevitable also hung over him. julian took off his windbreaker with jerky movements and threw it out to somewhere behind the bed.  
“i feel so uncomfortable in “nine”,” kylian confessed exhaling fatefully. “i just feel like a newcomer to the field for the first time. can’t do anything.”  
julian was stupidly silent. he never knew how to console people, didn’t know how to open their eyes to their own worth. he didn’t know how to raise the team spirit and make them believe in victory, even with meagre chances. he always felt very awkward when they lost control in front of him, and kylian who was without a fight abruptly exposing his fears to him, simply knocked him off balance.  
kylian came to him because he couldn’t be alone with thoughts slowly tearing him apart.  
... julian threw back the edge of the blanket so that kylian could get into the bed, and turned off the light. in the bathroom the water was running loudly, and the noise of the night city came from the outside. julian gladly stretched out on the cool sheets and relaxed his aching muscles. it was necessary to fall asleep sooner, but he was still wide awake, and probably the main reason was now brushing his teeth in the bathroom - julian should’ve sent him to his room, saying some wise encouraging words at parting, and to get the incident out of his head. kylian came out (julian saw his silhouette for a second against the brightly lit doorway), turned off the lights and closed the bathroom door. a barely audible movement, a soft click of a plug put into the socket, and then kylian appeared very close, crawling under the blanket. he touched julian’s hand while he settled down at some distance on the second pillow - julian started, but for some reason didn’t take his hand away. he was looking into the dark ceiling, not thinking about anything, and then turned carefully: kylian laid on his side, his hand under his head, and was staring at him. it was unnerving and very perplexing, and julian twisted his lip with displeasure, hoping that kylian would turn away or at least close his eyes. the opposite effect: kylian got up on his elbow, and leaned over to kiss him - julian jerked, although kylian stopped a few centimetres from him, his eyes closed. julian confusedly looked at the gentle contour of his parted mouth. the fingertips became hot, and the whole body became warmer and softened, and kylian smiled, without opening his eyes, and leaned over fully now./

/kylian  
the morning gets him in a strange bed. he wakes up slowly, as after a good, sound eight-hour sleep, rested and completely relaxed, not feeling any pressure due to the upcoming serious match. he’s awakened by the sunlight that is breaking through the orange blinds, or the noise — julian, already dressed and collected, was quickly darting around the room — cleaning up, folding up, removing his phone from charging. kylian slightly raised himself on the pillow and stared at him with a sated, still a bit hazy look. how many times he was imagining that, burning in shame and embarrassment, such moment of truly intimate closeness, shared blanket or a morning together. julian glanced at him and returned to folding his track bottoms into a tight roller, but then, realising that kylian was no longer asleep, he looked again. kylian smiled lazily at him, feeling the warm, viscous bliss spreading smoothly through his body.  
“good morning,” he said hoarsely. julian wrapped his collar tighter and answered:  
“morning,” in a calm, business-like voice, and the dream finally began to let kylian go. he shivered, trying to keep rapidly escaping warmth from his whole body, his chest sore. julian was colder than ice, again, once again breaking his infant hope, like the fragile lace of a snowflake, and it would have already begun to anger if kylian weren’t so bitterly disappointed and devastated. he pressed his lips together stubbornly. everything was like this: there were no sensual kisses in the dark in one bed, and there was also no vague anxiety shared for two. all right: julian didn’t need anything of this. it was kylian himself who came to him, was asking for it, was foisting himself, and julian just took what was so insistently offered to him. why would kylian expect any returning from him? julian really doesn’t owe him anything, and thilo was right, it’s time to wrap it up, because this is pure insanity and humiliation. kylian jumped up, throwing off the blanket, and frantically began to lace up his sneakers. he clenched his teeth because shameful tears almost came to his eyes. the only desire is to disappear from here as soon as possible. he straightens and rushes to the door, but julian grabs his elbow and stops him. pulls him to the dresser, pressing his lower back to the shelves:  
“where are you going?” in an angry whisper. “there’s lots of people everywhere!”  
“who cares,” kylian gnashes. julian still holds him and looks straight into his eyes, and kylian has no right to look away, although it seemed that his spine was slowly crumbling, unable to bear the weight of julian’s gaze. julian sighs. he loosens his grip, gently brushes the tips of his fingers along kylian’s hand up to the shoulder. another reason to hate himself is the total impossibility of confronting julian. whether words or touches, or something else. julian was stroking his cheek, steadily, barely touching, and from this simple caress all the rage, all the annoyance at him subsided, obeying him, the serpent charmer; was replaced by a trembling, tickling sensation overfilling his chest. julian lowered his eyelids, watching him. déjà vu.  
“you want the whole team and all the staff to find out we were sleeping in the same bed?” julian whispered, provoking the whole dopamine explosion inside kylian with these frank, blood-stirring words. he rubbed the edge of kylian’s mouth lightly, without pressure, and kylian meekly and unconsciously opened it, thinking about morning breath and his own lips swollen after sleep, but most of all - about how julian was looking at him, taking away his strength and will.  
julian has learned to understand his own incredible power over kylian.  
“i don’t,” kylian whispered hardly audible, terrified at how hoarse and weak his voice sounded. he awkwardly stretched out his hands and put them on julian’s belt, daring to pull him closer. the ribs seemed to not be able to withstand his own heartbeat. julian squeezed his shoulder with his other hand, for a moment he lowered his face, and then cups his face and pressed his lips against kylian’s. kylian closed his eyes, hugged him now fully and firmly, pulled him to himself (or pulled himself to julian?), barely restraining, passionately kissed him back - julian grinned, not pulling back. he hugged his neck and shoulders in view of the fact that he was taller. kylian gasped for breath, but julian kissed him again, not letting him breathe in deeply, exhaled softly on his cheek:  
“good morning.”  
his voice became noticeably deeper and also acquired a characteristic hoarseness, causing kylian to blush like a rose. julian leisurely ran his fingers along the collar of his pyjama t-shirt, and from this simple action, full of undisguised desire, kylian tingled. he looked at julian with all eyes, not completely sure that this is actually happening, that julian is playing with him like a cat with a mouse, and he gets sold on it like a complete nerd. or maybe…  
“we can’t be seen together,” julian breathed out, stroking his neck. “you understand?”  
kylian could hardly keep his eyes open because of these barely sensible tickling touches, but he nodded in agreement, fully aware of the importance of julian words.  
due to the fact that their strange, not yet formed relationship is now openly admitted by julian, kylian’s ribs were aching sweetly, he was in complete delirium. he didn’t know what time it was and whether they were late for a general breakfast, but he hoped with all his heart that they still had plenty of time. because if at certain moments kylian didn’t really give a damn and he could calmly send the whole world to hell, then julian’s patience and self-control would never give a gap, and, of course, he wouldn’t allow them both to give the team or the coaches even the least reason to suspect anything.  
julian, who was carefully examining his eyes, apparently made sure that the meaning of his words had been heard, and let kylian go, slightly stepping back, but not looking away. kylian exhaled, barely fighting the urge to try to get more – they were moving gradually, julian walked around on tiptoes, trying on where to go further, pondering and painfully doubting each subsequent step, and kylian wasn’t going to bother him. maybe it was just julian who made it too complicated, or maybe kylian was too naive and young to fully understand this life. maybe they both were just wasting their time.  
it was nothing to regret: maybe, at least like this it was possible to compensate for the time that kylian spent yearning for him.  
so he stepped forward, lightly pecked relaxed line of julian’s mouth, slid his hand across his belt:  
“we played fifa yesterday, and i forgot my phone by you.”  
julian grinned broadly, carefully removed kylian’s hand from his belt and returned to the suitcase.  
kylian came out of julian’s room as confidently and naturally as possible. his lips convulsed from a suppressed smile, and the familiar pre-match excitement finally filled him all over, forcing him to quicken his pace and even jump several times on the move. hunger for movement, excitement, desire to break out beyond his own limits.  
the sun was shining. “we will win,” kylian decided, and, grinning at christopher who had come out from around the corner, ran towards him./

/julian  
the euphoria after the victory over manchester, oddly enough, falls on him already during his return to paris.  
how has it happened, julian asked himself, picking up his passport after control and following marquinhos and dani through the waiting room, how has it happened, that a state of absolute happiness, peace, confidence in the future - any good feeling could be felt to the fullest only in paris? why did he allow love to the city and feeling of comfort turn into practically dependence?  
he returns home rather broken by high nervous tension on the eve of a serious match and bright positive emotions after. takes off his shoes, without looking, throws the jacket away, falls on the bed just like this, dressed. he tossed the bag with the belongings somewhere in the hallway.  
“so,” he says to himself. “i need to sleep at least eight hours.” then he remembers that he still needs to take a shower, unpack his bag and, overcoming yourself, to swallow some dinner, and with a moan buries his face in the pillow.  
after the shower, he got a little more cheerful anyway, and already enthusiastically went to turn on the kettle. wandering his eyes aimlessly across the neutral beige walls, julian suddenly remembered that neymar, for example, has all the walls hung with his portraits or photographs, posters and drawings, like the overwhelming majority of celebrity athletes. julian didn’t judge him at all and didn’t consider it narcissism or self-admiration, but it seemed at least weird to him to hang the whole apartment with his face. he himself had very few photographs - mostly simple photos with friends from leisure or childhood and family photos. waiting for the kettle to boil, julian went into the living room and stopped at the central wall, next to the high arch leading to other rooms. there at the level of his eyes hung a picture with his teammates. marco with his mouth wide open in a scream, kevin looking straight into the camera, laughing areola with adrien in the background, and presnel with his arm on julian’s shoulder and smiling broadly. julian examined the photo for a while, and then, obeying a sudden impulse, pulled the phone out of his back pocket and opened the list of contacts.  
the kettle whistled. julian cursed and darted to the kitchen. he brewed the tea, and then he leaned his lower back on the window sill, and leafed through the list, reaching the name “kimpembe”. julian froze in indecision. “why bother,” a thought flashed through his mind, and he shivered chilly. since when did he need a reason to call presnel? they often called each other before bedtime, and once it ended with presnel coming to him at half past one am, and sure thing they didn’t sleep normally, and were both limp as sleepy flies in the training next morning. but usually they just chatted about a little nonsense and wished each other good night. julian bit his lip and leafed further, to the "m".  
kylian’s night call several months ago seemed now only the fruit of an inflamed fantasy. without thinking and not giving himself a chance to give up, julian clicked “to call”. the silence between the dull, slow beeps almost made him hang up, but then kylian replied:  
“hello?”  
julian was silent, frantically inventing an excuse.  
“drax?” kylian asked in surprise, apparently, only now looking at the display.  
“hello,” julian said, trying to sound calm and relaxed.  
“hi,” without even trying to disguise confusion and bewilderment, mbappé responded, and julian heard him apologise to someone.  
he was somewhere out with friends again. déjà vu got julian.  
“i’m sorry to distract you,” julian said, feeling as if he were in some kind of parallel universe.  
“you are not distracting,” kylian said softly, velvety. his voice now sounded clearer and closer, and julian guessed that he probably went to the balcony or to the toilet. it was still not too late to turn back and quickly come up with some kind of stupid excuse, for example: “coach called and asked to remind you not to party too much and that the training won’t be cancelled tomorrow.” but they both knew everything.  
“i wanted to hear you,” julian breathed out in a fit of desperate, reckless courage. yes, that’s it.  
he wanted to hear his voice - a hoarse, rich, slightly nasal voice.  
moaning, gasping for his name.  
rapid breathing, warming the skin on the neck, escaping from the kissed lips, strong chiselled fingers on the shoulders, exhausting, animal desire in every cell.  
julian closed his eyes and squeezed his nose bridge to the pain.  
“m-m-m,” kylian said incoherently, and then exhaled loudly. “what are you doing?”  
“standing in the kitchen,” julian instantly responded, hurrying to dissuade kylian with what he had imagined.  
smoky, changeable images of kylian kissing him, his smooth, dark skin and clean, harsh scent persistently blossomed in his head.  
here we go.  
it’s now that julian has clearly crossed the line when all these vague desires could be transformed into anger and shame and crushed down on kylian, but now it was too late - only an undisguised attraction remained, revealing in a new way with every second, and julian - yes, he hated himself and hated kylian, but he had no strength to deny anything or blame anyone.  
“please, julian,” kylian whispered fiercely, and julian started at the helpless plea that cut through his strained voice. “don’t tease me, please.”  
he said his name correctly, without this annoying “g”.  
he exhausted kylian, drank all his blood, not allowing him to take a single step and never really pushing him away.  
kylian poisoned him with his passion, and now julian could forget about peace - they both could. a carefully suppressed panic slowly filled his whole being, but the point of no return was already behind.  
everything’s wrong.  
julian hang up, unable to endure this viscous hopelessness.  
the world has buried him under his rubble and, satisfied, spun in its usual rhythm./

/kylian  
football saves him from everything, and from julian as well. during the first sixty minutes of the match with saint-etienne kylian’s in some kind of frustration, each time some tiny fragment of reality escapes, not allowing him to focus on the whole picture. then - something connects - julian leaves the field, and it really helps kylian to get himself together, and with this dani manages to fool the defence and pass the ball to him, and then everything works by inertia. just in time. a complex, exhausting, threatening game, was instantly hacked, solved. kylian, shining with delight and pride, rushed to the bench, embraced the coaches, feeling the teammates surround him with a tight crowd.  
“well done, well done,” the coach repeated into his ear. kylian smiled and nodded, and his head was occupied only by one thing: julian remained on the bench, didn’t go down to congratulate him.  
he was so tired of these games, of endless paranoid thoughts, of pretending he didn’t care that one day julian was retreating from him, as if from a plague-touched, and another day had him pressed to the wall, touching him with such hunger that kylian’s bones were melting. he’s tired of his own behaviour and the behaviour of julian. sharp, piercing love torment subsided, choked with bitterness and melancholic regrets; even in the desire he felt for julian, there was practically nothing sexual left - it was almost a survival instinct, a desperate need.  
football saves him; the ability to abstract saves him too, and a clear understanding of his position, and innate ability of rational thinking. he has nothing left to do but to swallow all these feelings deeper and continue to live as he should. nothing is eternal. no matter how long his obsession lasts, it will eventually pass, too.  
... after the match, he walks, head down, tired but pleased with the game. in the tunnels it’s cool and standard liveliness reigns. kylian dives into a brightly lit corridor, hiding from the stadium and from the outside world, but then he gets sharply grabbed by the forearm and led away somewhere to the side, away from the crowd of snooping people and blinding fluorescent lamps. kylian looks around with haunted eyes, fearing that someone saw it, but julian doesn’t give him a fair assessment of the situation: he quickly pulls him around the corner, not far from the service exit, and lets him go there. kylian would’ve lowered his eyes if he hadn’t gotten fed up with all these dancing on glasses. he looks at julian, doomed and tired, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. he wants to take a quick shower and change his clothes. to get on the bus, then on the plane, and after a few hours to find himrself at home, roll into a fresh bed and sleep for eight hours.  
“kylian, we need to talk,” julian says, carefully examining his face — carefully, cautiously, but watchfully, kylian wants to shield himself from this look with his hands. he nods, allowing julian to continue. it doesn’t matter what julian tells him. doesn’t matter anymore.  
“i want to apologise,” julian said, rubbing his own forehead with pressure and frowning. “for everything. for...” he looked around them, as if trying to find words, but in the end simply repeated: “for everything.”  
kylian nodded. julian squeezed his temples with his fingers and shut his eyes, as if from severe pain, and kylian even experienced a second rush to say that everything is okay and he doesn’t blame julian for anything. that he had a brief insanity, and that now he’s in perfect order, and again they could be just teammates, laugh and hug each other after successful games, as they did before.  
but he didn’t even have heart to utter such vulgarities. he said nothing, ignoring the ever-increasing tension between them, because - yes, he was angry at julian, at his indifference and at the same time at his inability to categorically refuse - maybe, if he would’ve punched kylian in the face right away, it would all end much faster and less painful.  
julian shook his head and stepped toward him. kylian leaned back, not allowing julian to touch him. longing was choking him.  
“i said: do not tease me,” he said in a hollow voice. “i thought you were better than that.”  
“i wasn’t going to tease you,” julian whispered. he stepped forward again, reaching out, gently grabbed kylian’s wrist in the puffer sleeve, pulled it out of his pocket. kylian weakened at once, suddenly losing any motivation to push julian away, to say something like “stop playing with me, i’m not a circus mouse for you”. julian turned his hand palm down, petted the knuckles, ran his fingers between his own, stroking the inside of his wrist with his other hand. blood was pulsing thickly in kylian’s ears, and a tickling warm heaviness fell upon his chest, while he realised with helpless despair that julian was again manipulating him, outrageously easily subordinating him.  
julian, without breaking the visual contact, slowly raised kylian’s hand and laid it on his neck. kylian automatically squeezed it, shuddering with pleasure when julian’s uneven heart palpitations pounded gently into his palm. the shameful blush filled his face — how quickly he was losing his composure from such simple things.  
julian pulled him close to him, put his arm around his neck:  
“if you are... still...” kylian sighed, raising his head to look at him – julian’s hand, repeating his movement, clasped his face, stroking his cheek with his thumb. kylian was frankly melting. without knowing what he was doing, he reached out to julian’s lips, pressed himself to him, kissed him passionately, not hiding his lust, something sweetly broke off in his chest when julian kissed back gently, reassuringly, hugging him tight. viscous molasses flowed through the veins, igniting his blood. his body was getting worn out from fatigue and sensual languor, julian softly smooched him for the last time and pulled away, smiling, stroked his cheek again. kylian was staring at him with huge, shining eyes, with parted glossy lips and heavy breathing. he swallowed and grabbed julian by the belt, smiling shyly, broadly. julian lightly poked his finger into the dimple that had formed on his cheek, snorted briefly, and kylian laughed in reply. ecstasy boiled under the skin, like champagne, made it difficult to think soberly, to think that they were there, where they could be easily found, that all this was a tremendous risk from the very beginning. kylian thought only of julian’s smiling eyes and of irresistible desire to kiss him again.  
“we can... try,” julian said in a low voice, sending prickly chills down kylian’s spine. he slowly closed his eyes for a second (kylian stopped breathing), took a deep breath, shaking his head:  
“lord, what am i doing...”  
“yes,” kylian said quickly, clearing his throat. “yes, i want to. i still ...” he closed his eyes, physically feeling the heaviness and heat of julian’s gaze, and - leaping into the abyss:  
“…love you.”  
he opened his eyes, but then he drowned in a new kiss — shameless, surprisingly gentle and at the same time sloppy — and his thoughts parted, scattered in different directions, like dandelion seeds in the wind.  
julian squeezed him in his arms, and then quickly, with effort, got away.  
“see you later,” he said softly and tenderly. kylian nodded blankly, disoriented, swaying slightly, like a drunk, and watched julian leave, turning his back to him.  
but now he was leaving behind completely different feelings./

/thilo  
in the morning julian calls him and, without really explaining anything, blurts out in one breath:  
“good morning. i’ll be at your place in ten minutes, we’ll go to the training together, we need to talk about something.”  
and that’s all, he hangs up. thilo stands in the middle of his kitchen in underwear with a knife in his hand (he cut arugula for the salad), tries to understand what it was, and asks heaven where he was so sinful that now he can’t see peace. “honestly, i’ll soon just lock them in the back room or in the closet, and let them figure out their relationship for themselves,” thilo thought, who at first was amused by the situation, but now was almost brought to a nervous breakdown. kylian was unshakably silent after that incident in the back room, and when thilo once dared to start a conversation carefully, he made a stony face and inquired what’s the name of thilo’s dog. thilo, fortunately, was a very intelligent man, so he never brings up this subject again.  
julian also had some kind of a lull, but judging by the morning call, something finally happened. thilo sadly sighed, chopped into the salad twice the walnuts than it was supposed by the recipe, generously sprinkled some soy sauce and began to mix up thoughtfully. on the background of julian-kylian’s passions, even a break-up with his own girlfriend no longer seemed such a tragedy to him. thilo bit his lip, stopping to mix, and stared off into the distance, above the high-rise buildings that stood out of the window, as if hoping to find peace of mind there. noticing that half the salad was already on the table, he swore dirtily and began to put it back into the bowl.  
the doorbell rang sharply. thilo cursed again, yelled:  
“i’m coming!” and rushed into the living room for sweats. julian, fortunately, didn’t belong to those people who tormented the bell button every five seconds, but thilo still put his trousers on, confusing the legs, raced to the door, trying to open it as quickly as possible.  
“good morning,” julian said, all in black and with a bag on his shoulder. he looked around the hall behind thilo, as if fearing that he had disturbed something.  
“i’m alone,” thilo assured him, also for some reason looking back into the apartment.  
“sorry for being so sudden and without warning,” julian apologised without a shadow of regret. thilo waved his hand and walked aside, inviting him to enter. anything was understandable neither by the face nor by the voice of julian, and thilo, intrigued, waited impatiently while he unlaced his sneakers. julian, after he had taken off his shoes, walked into the kitchen, stood a little near the table smeared with sauce, on which arugula still laid, and then sat down on a chair at the head of the table. he left his bag in the hallway. thilo glanced at his watch: half past eight. forty minutes before training, considering some of the players who are always late.  
“some coffee?” he asked julian and turned on the coffee maker.  
“mmm,” julian said vaguely, clearly occupied with other thoughts, and then he blinked and said:  
“with milk, as usual.”  
“what happened?” thilo asked as casually as possible. curiosity gnawed at him more and more. sometimes he just hated julian’s secrecy and slowness when he decided to share something personal. julian chewed his lip, looking at the table. coffee maker gurgled. thilo waited patiently.  
“oh fuck,” julian finally said expansively and covered his face with his hands, burying them in his hair and rubbing his head hard.  
“c’mon!” not restraining himself, thilo shouted demandingly and jumped up. “don’t drag it out, damn, jule!”  
“ah, fucked up,” julian moaned, leaning back. “even before the holidays somehow it happened... i went to say goodbye to him, and then... well, a twist in my sobriety. and after the match with guingamp, he saw us with kim... in the locker room. i was looking for him, but he already ran away.  
“yeah, i saw him,” thilo said mechanically, slowly digesting the shocking information that had fallen on him.  
if you think so, it was to be expected.  
“then he came to my room before the game with manchester. and slept with me,” julian continued. thilo raised his eyebrows, but julian shook his head hastily.  
“there was nothing,” he frowned and looked around. thilo poured two cups of coffee, took out a bag of milk for julian and a sugar bowl. “it was in the morning... nothing serious.”  
“what is “serious” in your understanding?”  
“sex,” julian replied plainly. “he wanted to escape, because i... wasn’t very affectionate, i stopped him, people and cameras were everywhere, i said that we can’t be caught, somehow i kissed him...”  
“holy shit”, thilo mumbled confusedly, pouring julian some milk. for some reason, he didn’t expect such an outcome.  
“i wanted to talk to him yesterday, explain that this is wrong, and that i’m sorry, and so on. say that it was necessary to immediately stop it.” julian sipped his coffee, diluted with cold milk, and thilo had to forcefully blow on his own. “and he... was already kinda ... burned out.”  
“so what?”  
julian shook his head.  
“i’m in trouble,” he looked around, frustrated and discouraged. not knowing what to do next. thilo was silent.  
“thilo, i’m attracted to him,” looking at him directly, julian said quietly. “seriously attracted.”  
thilo chuckled.  
“and what with kimpembe?”  
“what?”  
“that’s it,” thilo got suddenly amused. “turns out, you now have three lovers?”  
“why three?” julian frowned uncomprehendingly, and then a gloomy insight flashed across his face. “oh, still lena ... i have to break up with her. to free myself and her.”  
“it was necessary before,” thilo said.  
“we’ve been together for so long, we’ve been through so much together,” julian said distantly. “we last talked about a month ago, but i still have some feeling of her presence. so strange that it can disappear.”  
“she’s aware that you are with presnel?”  
“i’m not with presnel,” julian said, irritably. “he’s just a very, very close friend, consider a soul mate. we are not together.”  
thilo, of course, had his own vision of the situation, but in view of the recent events, he also hesitated.  
julian finished his coffee in a gulp and stood up.  
“let’s go, it’s already time to leave.”  
thilo glanced at his watch. it was almost ten.  
“oh damn,” he hastily finished his burning coffee and ran into the living room to get his things. julian was putting on his shoes in the hallway.  
“so what will you do?” thilo asked as they left the house, heading for julian’s car parked around the corner. julian took out the keys.  
“at first, the training,” squeezing his eyes shut in the sun, he said. “and then - heart matters.”/

/kylian  
julian and thilo come already when the coach starts to get mad a little, and kylian, together with the whole team, breathes in relief when they both jump into the locker room and quickly speak to tuchel in german. half of the players are already on the field, eric, unfortunately, too, there’s no one to ask what’s going on. julian finds his gaze, smiles. kylian beams back, hoping that his smile didn’t turn out to be very amorous, because his heart broke its usual rhythm and spread blissful warmth all over his body. thilo and julian change their clothes, and the rest of the team are persistently kicked out on the field. nothing to do, kylian goes under the cool white sun, onto the juicy greens. he wants to train and wants to play tomorrow. wants to sing at the top of his lungs and make fun of cristo. wants to laugh. he wants to kick the ball, call neymar, hug tuchel, spread his arms and greet the spring that is already perceptible in the air. he knows that nothing lasts forever and that sooner or later everything passes, but here and now he is unbearably, absurdly happy, and he’ll try to keep this feeling as long as possible. carry it through the years and remember it when everything’s falling apart.  
and, it seems, everyone is influenced by his mood - the training is going well, everyone is joking and shouting out, almost with pleasure doing the exercises. at some point, he and julian find themselves opposite to each other and throw a ball to each other, and kylian smiles and says:  
“hello.”  
“hello,” julian laughs loudly and passes so hard that kylian can barely catch.  
“why are you late?” he wonders, sending the ball back. julian shrugs:  
“i picked thilo up, we drank coffee and didn’t keep track of time.”  
kylian nods knowingly, catches the ball with his hands, since tuchel is already whistling, thinking that he would also like julian to pick him up before training. that it would be nice, to drink coffee with him in the morning.  
they move to the basketball nets - the sun is already quite bright - and leandro and dani make a short performance, jumping on the basket and hanging on it (dani, of course, doesn’t manage). kylian prevents julian from scoring, chuckling vengefully. julian smiles at him, and – there are butterflies in kylian’s stomach again.  
they’re doing exercises on the mats next to each other, too.  
...they go out into the sunlight, holding their outerwear and bags in the hands, in a great mood.  
“it was a good training,” julian says, squinting one eye. kylian nods. he desperately, incredibly doesn’t want to say goodbye now, even knowing that tomorrow they will meet again. he frantically searches for words to linger with julian for a few more minutes, but julian again surprises him. he speaks:  
“should i give you a ride?” kylian mentally screams, but only says aloud:  
“yes, if it’s possible.” and smiles uncertainly.  
“no problem,” julian responds. “just wait for thilo.” and the spirits immediately fade a little. kylian has nothing against thilo, on the contrary, thilo is a wonderful guy and an important player, but now he’s depriving kylian of a precious chance to be alone with julian, in the closed space of his car, which is difficult to forgive.  
“of course,” he nods carelessly. their comrades begin to leave the locker room, laughing and talking loudly, and kylian shrank, suddenly feeling absolute peace. presnel, as usual, was heard long before he became visible, and now he jumped out of the locker room, extraordinarily inspired, screamed something at nkunku, and then jumped towards them.  
“kyky, baby!” kylian stoically endured a suffocating embrace, slightly patted presnel’s back, smiling at his enthusiasm:  
“see you tomorrow.”  
presnel let him go and, not paying attention to julian’s raised hand, also hugged him and kissed him firmly on the cheek.  
“i’ll call you in the evening, babe.”  
julian, with a restrained smile, patted him on the shoulder. kylian felt icy chills down the neck, a smile froze on his lips. he diligently tried to bring back the feeling of carefree joy, but his thoughts were now heavy and dark, like thunderclouds. presnel released julian, and shrieking deafeningly:  
“adri!” rushed away to catch rabiot. the cold that had spread between him and julian wounded almost physically. kylian bit his lip. but then, finally, thilo came out of the locker room, and julian, twisting the keys on his finger, turned around and headed for the car.  
kylian had the idea of refusing and going home on a minivan, but this would probably be too obvious and childish, and he followed thilo with wooden steps.  
“oh, are you with us?” thilo friendly asked, and climbed into the backseat. kylian, of course, had hope that thilo would be smart enough to refuse julian’s help, but now he was glad that he wouldn’t have to endure twenty minutes of agonising awkwardness alone with julian. he sat on the passenger seat and buckled up. julian, who had already warmed up the car, said good-bye to someone through the window and drove onto the john fitzgerald kennedy avenue. kylian looked out the window. he had completely forgotten about kimpembe. it would be foolish to hope for something, he was too precious for julian, too close, irreplaceable.  
so everything is meaningless?  
thilo started a conversation about a new psg collaboration, then the conversation smoothly shifted to some girls, to tomorrow’s match and to the second leg with manchester.  
“this is probably karma,” thilo said. “how they made fun of our injured line-up, and look how it turned out.”  
“do not rejoice in advance,” julian rationally replied, leaning back on the seat and sticking his elbow into the open window. “they, too, were confident that victory was already in their hands.”  
kylian thought they were speaking french so that he didn’t feel like a third wheel, and with annoyance he realised how much people are united by a common origin and language. thilo and julian had that level of understanding which he would never achieve.  
they stopped - suddenly they were in front of thilo’s house. thilo leaned forward, slapped kylian on the shoulder, squeezing it slightly:  
“see you tomorrow, kyli.”  
he got out of the car and walked over to julian, putting his hands on the frame of the open window, said something in german with a loud laugh. julian shoved his hands off the frame and closed the window. thilo was actively waving to them all the time while they were driving out to the roadway. when thilo’s house disappeared from view, julian turned his whole body to kylian:  
“won’t you mind to come over?”/

/kylian  
timid, sneaking movements. kylian’s heart goes into hysterics, chokes with its own contractions, and julian probably hears it - squinting, he puts cups of herbal tea on the table and sits opposite. kylian fidgets a little, clasps the cup with his palm, but then, hissing, pulls his hand back, lowers it onto the cold counter.  
“be careful,” julian says measuredly. he’s on his territory, and therefore he feels much more comfortable than kylian. kylian has never been to his home. he looks around as soon as he enters the apartment, examines walls, doors, things on the shelves and in the closet, linoleum in the kitchen and tiles in the bathroom, because, as you know, the house is a reflection of its owner. here julian lived, ate, played video games, woke up and went to bed, washed and ironed his clothes, rested after matches and workouts. stood on the balcony and looked at the night paris.  
so another desire was born.  
kylian nodded and picked up the cup again, more carefully this time, and pulled it to himself. he didn’t know what to say or ask, how to behave. it was so strange to sit and be silent in the apartment of julian draxler, twirling a cup of tea between weak fingers. kylian felt like a different person when he was alone with julian - all his confidence, calm and prudence - yes, even the carefree liveliness - evaporated somewhere, only shyness, awkwardness and heart pounding like in the heat remained. he didn’t know what to talk about with julian, but he wanted to talk with him uncontrollably, although he also liked to be silent.  
julian was looking directly at him, relaxed, leaning back in his chair, and this made kylian not manage to do anything normally - he was burning himself with tea, his fingers were unruly and soft. but if kylian knew how to portray something at the highest level, so it is composure.  
“kyli,” slightly intoned, narrowing one eye, julian called out.  
of course, he saw his ridiculous constrained movements and obvious uneasiness, and couldn’t remain silent. kylian gazed frowningly, unknowingly taking a protective stance.  
they were stuck on one spot, their relationships, and julian, as kylian suspected bitterly, could easily just amuse himself. and that scene in the corridor could’ve been almost entirely a figment of his imagination.  
probably, julian just drove him to unconsciousness, again, and in delirium it seemed to him that something — tender, promising — existed.  
julian bent down - a swift, almost convulsive movement - and took him by the wrist. gently turned the inside up. kylian held his breath a little when he slowly, almost imperceptibly, ran his fingers along the protruding vein, outlined the contour of the watch strap.  
it already happened. julian spoke to him through touches, balancing between deeply intimate and almost friendly, and kylian was freaking out, having no idea whether he interpreted these gestures correctly, whether he understood what julian told him, caressing his skin as if it were a crystal.  
“this is so strange,” slowly, carefully weighing the words, julian spoke, not looking up. kylian looked at the long threads of his eyelashes that fell on his cheeks.  
“aha,” he agreed absently, carefully picking up julian’s fingers when he reached his palm, and slipping his fingers along julian’s wrist. weakness filled him up like a thick custard, his bones ached slightly, like in a fever, but it was a pleasant ache, kylian would like it to never end. he was cautiously stroking julian’s palm from the wrist to the very fingers with his fingertips, and julian moved his fingers towards his touch, easily scraped the pad of kylian’s thumb with his nails.  
they were sitting in julian’s kitchen and petting each other’s hands, and the fact that kylian definitely felt the approach of an erection made the situation several times worse.  
he pulled out his hand, not even having time to stop himself, fearing again to expose himself to ridicule in julian’s eyes, as has already happened more than once. julian immediately leaned back and again became unattainably calm, pale and a little mocking.  
maybe not worth it.  
“it seems to me that the rotation for such a game could have been easier,” julian said in such a tone, as if they had been discussing the match all this time, and kylian relieved himself in the kindly suggested topic, trying to forget what had just happened.  
yes, probably, nevertheless, it was not worth it./

/kylian  
kylian literally has no premonition when they enter the field. tuchel stood near the entrance in the dressing room, nervously pressing his fist to his chin, and stared at the floor, essentially preventing him from concentrating. kylian, pulling on his shorts, tried to chill away his stupor. something is wrong, but this feeling is vague and abstract, so subtly, that it seems to be just a joke of jaded nerves.  
it’s raining on parc des princes.  
“don’t screw it up,” tuchel, pale and with prominent cheekbones, said in a hoarse, barely audible voice, as they left the locker room. kylian awkwardly shook his hand.  
apparently even then has felt.  
the main thing is to keep calm, kylian says to himself, going under the dank slush and not feeling the small hand of the child clutching his own. they get in line. the grass is moist, elastic, but this is clearly not in their favour - but not in favour of manchester either. a war, kylian thought, examining native tribunes and mechanically kneading the boy’s shoulders. when he came to his senses, he leaned toward him, unable to restrain a nervous chuckle when he saw the expression on his face - the boy was clearly not at ease. with ever-increasing anxiety, kylian felt how he wanted to laugh out loud, uncontrollably. and it was very bad.  
a very bad sign. but kylian doesn’t believe in signs - he believes in the thirst for victory, skill, competent work of the head coach, the right motivation, and maybe a little in luck. they’ll gnaw out the victory today.  
whistle. he takes off, habitually and easily, his muscles stretch and contract, full of strength, and the frost hits his face unexpectedly bitingly. keep calm.  
that’s what kylian shouts to his teammates, so gesticulates, when lukaku scores in the second minute after thilo’s gross mistake, struggling with nauseous sourness coming up his throat - everyone stays in the field, everything’s in order, we calmly play on. a haze veils his eyes - rain? fog? they regrouped, darted, realising the prospects, and the match continued. time merged into an almost invisible lane. kylian throws himself into the very hearth, into the hell of attack-defence, working just on the verge. in vain – doesn’t have time, doesn’t reach, loses the balls one by one. there’s still enough time, but kylian suffocates from helplessness. he hates his teammates for wasted chances, but the way he hates himself is not comparable with anything else. then - something happens - a breakthrough, insight, kylian sees the field and the placement of players as clearly as if he looked down on the field - sees a way, a chance - and, without thinking, grabs the opportunity. and bernat, in an incomprehensible way, in almost bestial instinct, having caught his intention (simple and therefore only true), rushes across the ball. a moment, a flash, pain in the whole body - he fell without noticing it - and the ball was in a goal. yes. yes.  
and the rhythm is aligned. at least, to kylian in the euphoria, it seems that everything is going like clockwork. they practically don’t part with the ball, they don’t allow manchester to attack, but there is no connection; scattered, not understanding each other, nervous. god please, kylian says. direct us and protect.  
but god probably doesn’t like football. god is probably bored to watch.  
they don’t feel each other, and pay for it in full.  
kylian doesn’t remember all the famous people looking at them from the stands, as he doesn’t remember neymar, whom he called before the match itself. the feeling of unreality doesn’t leave him on the way to the locker room.  
tuchel, wet from rain or cold sweat, white as a wall, follows them.  
“nothing’s lost yet, okay?” thiago slapped his back, overtaking him. sharply slapped. and the hand was shaking.  
kylian nods because his tongue seems frozen.  
...until the last moment he hopes, believes, burns, even with feverish fire. and when a sharp, piercing to the bones whistle hits the ears like a bursting bullet, his heart falls down like a stone. kylian falls down like that. screw everyone who sees it, who scornfully smiles, screw cameras, opponents and their fans who are distraught with joy. something colossal, immense broke in front of his eyes, slipped out of his weakened fingers. he hears a buzz, screams, the earth trembles. he covers his face with his hands in a reflex urge to hide. strange, painful chest cramps turn out to be sobs. he doesn’t even really understand what happened to julian - it’s just another shock. what does he feel? if it were necessary to describe as accurately as possible, he would say: shame and pain. the door to the desired victory mockingly slammed just before his face. he wanted to win the champions league so much. moreover, he wanted to do it with psg, to prove to all these bastards that they were fucking wrong. cruelly wrong. to win the champions league side by side with julian. and presnel, and buffon, and thilo, and juan, and cavani, and neymar - with all of them, and now...  
marcus gently slid his hand over the back of his head, comforting him, but couldn’t hide the joyful, proud shudder. kylian’s head was spinning and his eyes were hazy and burning. in a panic of uncontrollable tears, he grabbed a t-shirt collar and pulled it up on his forehead, defending himself from the whole world. fuck it. no strength to smile affably, to pretend that he doesn’t care and that he hasn’t lost hope. he only has strength remained for breathing. he’s crushed and destroyed, so let them see. who cares. there’s eric saying something to him, bending down and protecting him from the whole world. kylian was not here.  
his body was burning, but he was shivering.  
...julian waited not far from the office space, at some distance from the dressing rooms. he stood, swaying slightly, leaning on a healthy leg, already in a jacket, aged for several years at once. kylian simply wanted to stop existing, moving out of his last strength, and in some other life, at the sight of julian waiting for him, his heart would sweetly twitch and pound twice as fast, but now the appearance of an injured teammate only added to his suffering. he approached julian, feeling the burden of the whole world. approached him, as an executioner or a priest, forgiving the last sin before bringing up a knife. as the last shore in the stormy sea.  
he swung and fell on his chest, a blind kitten poking into a cold tough jacket. simply, openly, exposing himself to danger - and julian hugged him by the neck and belt, pulled him close, hiding from the whole world, hugged him like nobody else from the team could, and no one from manchester.  
kylian needed him more than ever to say something. everything will be ok. don’t worry, it’s not the end of the world. it’s not our fault. but julian was silent, pressing his cheek against the top of his head, and slightly lulling him to sleep - there was nothing to say /no reason/, and then he found kylian’s hand and firmly squeezed it with his cool, dry, equally weak palm.  
and then something scattered, shattered inside kylian calmed down a little./

/julian  
the next morning there’s no strength to get out of bed. yesterday it seemed blurry and that made it even more exhausting and terrible, a nightmare - after a humiliating disqualification, nothing really ended. then it was necessary to look into the eyes of the coach, shake hands with the players of manchester and deal with every employee of the staff, with every member of the team. listen to the unimaginable noise of the stands. but the worst... the worst came later - the lost, completely defenceless presnel’s face, thilo, overwhelmed by guilt. kylian... then julian was examined and prescribed treatment, and at this stage he could no longer think straight. he was prescribed physiotherapy and massage and was told that he’s out for several weeks, just before the matches in the national team.  
julian watched helplessly as the vicious circle closed. nothing remained in the past year - everything was repeated anew, with some changes, but still the same.  
he falls asleep through a wild headache and aching in his injured thigh, with a kind of painful, artificial-like sleep.  
repeat after me, everything will be fine. this is not the end of the world.  
the next morning, he wakes up even more tired, and for some time just stares mindlessly at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to live on. they were given three days off - and then the team will return to the usual training regime, and this will become their lifeline, will allow them to get back to normal quickly. he’s out for the next few weeks, he’ll just go crazy. julian buries his face in the pillow, but can no longer sleep, just like to idly lie in bed as well. he gets up, wincing at the pain in his leg, goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash himself. still, in prostration, he eats breakfast, without even memorising what he ate.  
outside the window, it’s sunny and warm. julian washes the dishes, then turns the washing machine on - he takes care of himself with everyday troubles, because otherwise... he starts to rethink over and over every second of yesterday. the only thing that’s good about his injury is that the day after tomorrow he will not have to listen to the curses of their own fans and see his friends with the coach. he needs to lick his wounds, because each of the team was in his own fault. thilo, presnel. then, during the game and even after, julian was too focused on the game that continued without him, all the details, important moments flew past him, and only now it came to his mind - the dead expression on thilo’s face. sharp, helpless despair of kimpembe. probably... he should’ve called them. both of them, his closest people in this team. maybe they needed support or at least minimal care more than ever. and maybe they didn’t want to hear anyone in the next few days. or weeks.  
...the doorbell was sharp and completely unexpected - julian shivered, and, dropping his wet shirt, which he pulled out of the washing machine, straightened. his heart was pounding somewhere under the throat. five seconds later they called again. julian shook off his frustration and went out into the corridor - he stood, waiting, but when they called for the third time, he nevertheless went up to the door, and without looking through the peephole, he slammed it open. presnel stood with his head down and his shoulders drooping; he only looked up to julian’s eyes, and it was just creepy to see him - sunny, crazy - so dead.  
“hello,” julian croaked awkwardly. he felt like a person who witnessed some kind of emergency and who has no idea how to give first aid - he was only forced to look at the torments of the other, dying of helplessness, not knowing how to relieve them. presnel’s face twisted in a grimace of monstrous pain, he threw back his head and groaned at the entrance ceiling:  
“god...”  
“come in,” julian jerked away. it seemed to him that the main thing now was to hide presnel, to protect him from the world. presnel stepped abruptly over the threshold and leaned on julian with all his weight, pressing both of them against the wall of the hallway. julian puffed. he cautiously put his arm around kim’s waist and reached out to slam the door closed, while presnel frenziedly pressed his lips to julian’s neck under his ear:  
“god, i was so fucked, julian, it’s just...”  
“we all were,” julian hissed fiercely, hugging him tightly, burning from those things he wanted, but just physically couldn’t tell him. “it’s not just your fault.”  
presnel sighed and slid his hand to his thigh.  
“hurts?” he asked hoarsely. julian shook his head vaguely, sneaking under his jacket and t-shirt.  
kimpembe throws him onto the bed - the mattress briefly jingles and quietens, only the sounds of tired breath, clothes rustling and confused unfinished phrases crawl into their world (every kiss, every touch is filled with bitterness). kim pulls away from him, hastily removes his t-shirt and lies down on top of him, stroking his face with long warm hands (something slips into julian’s memory - hands. fingers. delicately carved, a work of art). julian finds presnel’s heart, puts his hand on his chest, pushing thoughts of beautiful fingers in his own palm away.  
“love you,” presnel breathed out, dropping his head on his chest. julian flinched, frantically clasping his head with the hands, unsuccessfully trying to pacify the agitated memory of exactly the same desperate confession, only in a high, hoarse voice, like a cry for help. he suffocated, pulled presnel towards himself, but before his eyes there were already other images: chiselled hands, round eyes, darkened by passion, exhausted moans in a low voice, waiting for a dirty trick in every gesture, pleadingly, regardless of pride and shame: “please...”. julian clasped his teeth, losing his mind in fear. in spite of himself, he pushed kim’s shoulders, throwing him off of himself and turning over, laying down on top, looking at him with absolutely wild eyes - presnel fell back, watching him through his half-lowered eyelids, allowing him everything...  
julian never closed his eyes for a second, holding only presnel’s tattooed arms in his head, his eyes, body, voice, so that — god forbid — nothing sneaked into his head, didn’t remind anything.  
but it was too late.  
sex turns almost into anguish - into a desperate struggle with himself, and presnel, of course, sees it, but, fortunately, blames everything on heavy moral division. he cups julian’s face, kisses him soothingly, whispers:  
“it’s okay, babe... we can handle it. you’ll get well soon.”  
julian powerlessly closes his eyes./

/julian  
presnel leaves, although julian expected him to linger around until the evening. in the corridor, he puts on his shoes while julian waits, leaning against a wall, stands up, not zipping his jacket, steps toward julian:  
“see you, babe. i’ll call tomorrow? no worries, we’ll do it!” he embraced him, pecked his cheek, as if turning into himself again, and, for the last time looking back at julian, went out into the porch. the door slammed shut. julian exhaled and crawled down the wall.  
presnel was laying on his bed for a long time, looking absently at the ceiling, pulling only his trousers on, although usually he was completely shameless and only played with his eyebrows meaningfully and laughed deafeningly, as soon as julian gave a hint about some decency. apparently, now it seemed inappropriate even to him. julian didn’t immediately realise what exactly he felt - the presence of kimpembe acted depressingly, julian felt like a prisoner in his own house, and this scared him almost to a shiver - since when did kimpembe constrain him? he recalled a second, but no less striking annoyance, occasionally appearing recently from some habitual presnel’s actions - from his hysterical, shrill laughter, his teasing, or unconscious movements. he was unbearably ashamed of it, and he understood that presnel hadn’t done anything wrong. he was only himself and loved julian, with a strange, not quite romantic and not quite friendly love, but he loved, and julian also loved him - in his own way.  
everything was going down the tubes.  
kylian. damn boy, cheeky, self-confident, ridiculously awkward and helpless, entangled in complex adult feelings, who has also lured him into this total mess. damn golden boy with a sinful mouth and gorgeous hands, burning, giving all of him both on the field, and in love.  
julian’s head was spinning from the unbearable desire to see him.  
but julian had presnel - his home and his very best friend, who had never encroached on his heart, never declared so boldly and at the same time so openly and absolutely fearlessly: “i love you.” julian didn’t know how to characterise their relationship - he didn’t even know after so much time. he was not taken and was not free, but every time he thought about kylian, he was haunted by a distinct sense of wrongness, which means that he could no longer go on like this.  
break up with kimpembe? it’s like tearing off your hand or any other part of the body, unthinkable.  
“hello?” hoarse, strained voice replies. julian bites the inside of his cheek, torn between a million possibilities, options, answers and decisions, unable to choose the right path.  
how good that life is not so fatal./

/kylian  
he hangs up, and his fingertips tremble slightly from the overwhelming emotions. stupid puppy joy, almost fanatical delight makes him forget about real life - julian said: “come if you can,” and kylian will come, without question. but how? he can’t take a taxi. he cannot ask either his agent or his father, because it will look utterly suspicious. this is the same as declaring: “mom, dad, i’m in love with my teammate, and now i’m going to see him for, well, you know what. please take me there ”. kylian covers his head with his hands, going crazy. he needs julian so much now, especially now, when he cannot recover at all, when everything is really bad. and julian also needs him.  
a piercing thought comes suddenly, shines like lightning: thilo. thilo is in a terrible mood, thilo is depressed much more than he is, thilo is now not up to his problems, but thilo is the only one who can understand.  
... and thilo understands. speaks to him dryly, in short phrases. after an ask to give him a ride, he’s silent for a long time, but then, at last, he says (cutting off kylian’s heartbeat):  
“okay. will be at your place in half an hour.”  
and hangs up. incoherent words of gratitude stuck in kylian’s throat while he rushes about the room, frantically preparing himself. he thinks about everything: about how to take a shower, about what perfume to use or not to use at all, about the fact that, thank god, his socks and underwear are clean. wearing a plain white t-shirt and light jeans is a win-win option. he doesn’t even feel particularly awkward, preparing like for a date, because perhaps this is it. thoughts of losing fade into the background. time’s running out, kylian puts aside the bottle of hugo boss, hoping for the best, grabs a leather jacket and jumps out onto the stairs. ethan, watching tv downstairs, gleams at him in surprise, then looks down at his watch:  
“where you’re going?”  
“to see a friend,” kylian hurriedly throws over his shoulder, rummaging in the nightstand in search of keys. “tell mom, okay?”  
“okay,” ethan shrugs, losing interest, returns to the film. kylian shoves the phone in his pocket and runs out into the street, into the cool afternoon. after a few minutes, thilo arrives.  
later it will be necessary to thank him somehow./

/julian  
kylian gazes so familiar from under his eyebrows, standing on the threshold, that julian almost feels his chest squeeze. this shouldn’t happen, but it does, and julian wants to quickly slam the door behind them, leave this feeling of a fatal mistake on the staircase, outside their world. kylian looks amazing in a white t-shirt and jeans, with a leather jacket slung over his shoulder. julian catches himself thinking that, more recently, he began to pay attention to his appearance - another proof of his falling.  
“hi,” kylian says hoarsely, as he had about an hour ago on the phone.  
“hello,” julian replies quietly. he immediately steps back inside, silently inviting him to enter. a few months ago, kylian called him drunk and reckless, frantically exhaling curses into the phone, and now he’s on julian’s threshold after julian called him himself. what an irony. kylian steps widely inside, and julian immediately slams the door shut - always be alert, always be wary of extra ears or eyes. kylian carefully looks at him, his movements are also softened and slightly slowed down, as if he were taming a wild unpredictable beast. the way he stares at people... not only at julian, in general, at everyone – you must be born with such a look - shrilly, frankly, shamelessly. julian takes the jacket from him, gently opening his palm, and hangs it on the hangers in the closet – kylian waits until he turns back. then slides his hot palms over julian’s face, his thumbs stroking his cheekbones. he says nothing and it is not necessary. julian never regretted him, didn’t spare his feelings, was not afraid to hurt him with a harsh word or movement - methodically, step by step, he was teaching him, hardening for the future, because kylian wasn’t one to be easily broken. he endured everything. he could bear more. julian was drawing maps on his palms in a difficult adult life, confusing in turns and intersections, going astray himself. getting lost in the desire for him.  
julian knocks him down on the bed (barely cooled after presnel). kylian is flattened on the back, he breathes heavily - a light perspiration has come out on his face, the outline of his lips is slightly blurred. julian throws his shirt on the nearest chair and climbs on top of him. kylian embraces his shoulders and looks straight into his eyes, swallowing, and julian, obeying, bends down and kisses him again; they touch with their bare stomachs, kylian sucks in his own and makes a strange pectoral sound, from which julian gets goose-bumps along his spine. he firmly squeezes kylian’s wrist, presses it to the bed, kylian:  
“he was here? presnel?” whispers with poorly hidden pain.  
“yes,” julian replies even quieter.  
kylian nods, though his cheekbones and chin are petrified and his eyes wander around the room. it’s still daylight, a fragment of sun flare cuts julian’s eyes when kylian turns back to him. allows him to see how the pain slowly emerges from his features, how a lost, wounded expression nests at the bottom of the pupils. he opens up, completely, stretches himself on the palm of his hand - burn me, put out my passion, i’ll smoke out of spite. there’s buzzing in julian’s ears, his elbows and knees weaken. a boy, helplessly, ridiculously enthused by him, made him feel stupid and pathetic — fearlessly acknowledging the depth of his feelings, he stubbornly clenched his jaw, overcoming constant jealousy. boldly looking straight into julian’s eyes, he crawled under his skin, revived every nerve — made his point intentionally or not, it doesn’t matter. julian shook his head. he kissed him, unable to restrain himself, again, being angry with him and at the same time admiring; he slightly pulled away, rolled over his tongue with pleasure:  
“kylian,” slightly lengthened out the “l”, sharply lashed with the last syllable. kylian looked into all his eyes, gasping a little when julian pronounced his name, then jumped up, almost knocking out julian’s teeth - kissed julian’s face, squeezing his shoulders, hands, strong hands, clung to him with his whole body.  
they cannot find a common rhythm for a long time. kylian, breathing rapidly, watches julian tearing up a silvery square.  
“what for?” whispers with his lips alone. his hard, piercing gaze makes it very difficult to concentrate. “we are regularly checked.”  
“just in case,” julian snapped abruptly. having done, he lied down on kylian, shuddering at the reality and brightness of what was happening, and ran his palm along the inside of his left thigh. kylian jerked a little convulsively, spreading his legs wider, allowing julian to get comfortable between them. he was nervous, unable to hide it. a shy blush filled his cheeks and ears, his eyes gleaming painfully. julian pressed his lips to his collarbone soothingly:  
“you’re not ready, right?”  
kylian angrily shook his head, moaned, pressed julian to his waist, grinded against him - julian examined his boner, oozing a little pre-cum, then lowered his free hand to tightly grip his cock, made a few movements to try, rubbed his thumb under the head. kylian inhaled sharply, slightly arched:  
“shi-i-it!” he rocked his hips up, trying to get more, and julian didn’t tease him. kylian was hissing and cursing, squeezing his hand, while julian caressed him, measuredly, keeping pace, then abruptly opened his eyes and pushed julian’s shoulder:  
“stop... no… more, i’m going to...”  
“so fast?” julian purred, quickly pecking his parted lips. kylian kicked his leg, offended.  
...he was squeezing his eyes shut, biting his lip, glossy from saliva, with concentration, and julian stared with fascination at his eyebrows, broken in agony, at moist face, body stretched out, and stiff muscles. in a clumsy attempt to calm him, he stroked his back, ran his fingers over the short-shaven head. kylian opened his eyes (and only made it worse for julian), and slightly smiled at the corner of his mouth. a dimple formed on his cheek instantly. julian sank down on his elbows, rolling kylian back onto his back, clasped his face, not allowing him to turn away, gently thrusted forward without breaking eye contact. kylian shuddered violently, unable to contain a resounding exhalation, his face expression still frozen on the edge between torment and bliss. julian was sensing — how he instinctively tried to pull his hips together, how he opened his mouth silently, grabbed his wrists — he learned to love him, something that he never needed with either lena or presnel, nor all of his random lovers. the sun was going down, plunging them both into the warm gloom.  
“i promise nothing,” julian said hoarsely in a low voice. “but i’ll try, ok?”  
“i love you,” kylian breathed out, not listening, and wrapped his legs around julian’s hips - warm, relaxed, losing all his shame - found his hand and intertwined their fingers. pressed his lips to julian’s mouth, forcing him to bend down. it was too late to change anything. julian tried to find in himself something that stopped him from reciprocal confessions, any hints that this impulse was dictated only by lust. kisses are hot and sweet, julian pressed kylian to the bed, going crazy about how he was falling apart under him. the rhythm gradually becomes more lingering and teasing. kylian watches him from beneath half-lowered eyelids.  
“mon amour,” he pleasantly purrs the “r”, grins.  
“you are a brazen, unscrupulous, spoiled creature,” gasping for a breath after each word, julian answers and leaves bruises on his shoulders – they’d be visible on his neck.  
“tell me that you’re just fucking me now, and not making love to me, and i’ll believe,” kylian grins, his eyes are burning.  
a small, charming impudent.  
yes, julian’s got in a hell of a trouble./

/kylian  
they’re lying on crumpled sheets, listening to the sounds of evening paris. kylian makes himself comfortable on his stomach and places his heavy head on his arms to make it easier to look at julian, who has already put his sweats on and is lying across the bed on the opposite side - he needs personal space and coolness after, and although kylian just wanted to climb upon him and lazily kiss for a long time, watching julian was also quite good. for the first time. he knew that julian could see the steep line of his body, and this only kept him going. julian didn’t look, and kylian understood what was going on - he reinterpreted everything that had happened, was getting used to the thought that they had just slept; perhaps, he thought what to do next and how to explain everything to kimpembe. it would be naïve of kylian to believe that now everything will be cool, that they’ll marry and disappear into the pink sunset, but now, when the weathered orgasm was still ringing in every part of his body and julian’s crazy eyes were in front of the inner vision, he was calm. he knew that he attracted julian, attracted as much as julian attracted him, and it’s only a matter of time before they understand what to do with this fact.  
“jule,” he called, lifting himself up on his elbows. his inners squeezed sweetly by the sound of the name, almost forcing him to repeat it again. julian roused himself and absently turned his gaze on him.  
“isn’t it time for you to come back?” he asked, confused. a little earlier, kylian would already jump up, flashing his offended eyes with tears (of rage, sure thing), and in a minute he would be gone.  
“no, it’s not,” he snapped. “i want to spend a little time with you.”  
julian was discouraged by his frankness, and kylian himself was sometimes amazed. julian sighed, looking down:  
“kyli…”  
kylian pulled himself up, getting up, and crept close to julian. they were sitting, touching their shoulders, and a tender, exciting feeling of feverish love, pure enjoyment from the closeness of the beloved being filled kylian again. not holding back, he slid his hand across julian’s bent back, ran his fingers over the hard shaven hairs on the back of his head - julian slightly shuddered, and kylian saw with inappropriate enthusiasm how sleepily, heavily trembling, his eyelids closed.  
“it was a mistake,” julian murmured, catching his hand and slightly squeezing his wrist. he suddenly rose up, frantically gripping kylian’s shoulders:  
“a very serious mistake, do you understand?”  
wherever you go, cameras are chasing you everywhere. the words spoken in a whisper or in a full voice, well thought out or completely random, are recorded on tape and become instant public knowledge. every movement, every glance, careless step is broadcasted for millions of people around the world, discussed, analysed, you are a target.  
wherever you go, they will never leave you. glass walls, a house pierced by projectors and surrounded by helicopters.  
money, cars, girls, access to everything you want?  
life at gunpoint.  
kylian let him go, fell on the bed, as if being shot, covered his face with his hands.  
yes, it was a huge mistake. not because someone could find out, not because it could stigmatise their reputation. because now there was no going back.  
now... they’ll have to live with it.  
“i don’t deserve happiness?” kylian asked, hardly pushing sounds through a burning spasm in his throat. “you don’t deserve?”  
“you deserve it,” julian said almost fiercely. he sighed, as if forcing himself to finish. “but nobody cares.”  
i love you, kylian said. i love you so much that i think i can withstand it all. but i know this isn’t true. i know that everything is too difficult, and that i will soon move to real, and that one day i’ll have to go through your death - or you - through mine. i cannot demand anything from you, because the price is too high, and, to be frank, i myself am not ready to pay it. but i’m confused, and i don’t know what to do, how to avoid pain and to relieve you of pain. he spoke to julian mentally, not having any strength to open his mouth, giving in, yielding, accepting.  
“there was nothing,” he said at last, so hoarsely, as if he had been silent for months. and then julian suddenly twitched again, almost falling on him, almost pressing him down, and kylian, fearfully, held his breath from the pure, almost crazy rage that his pale face radiated.  
“it was,” julian hissed in an intermittent voice, looking straight into his eyes. kylian froze like a mouse in front of a snake, barely breathing, feeling everything inside turn upside down. he never saw julian like that.  
“it was,” julian repeated and took his face in his palms. “in no fucking way they will decide who i have to be with.” rhe stroked kylian’s cheek with his thumb. kylian grabbed his wrist, struggling with some painful arching pressure under his ribs. “do you understand?” he delicately shook kylian. his eyes sparkled. “kylian... i love you,” he gasped, finally, at the same time losing all his strength and all the fuse, exhaustedly dropping his head on kylian’s chest.  
kylian’s heart was roaring, as in some kind of flush, something was terribly stinging in his throat and making it difficult to breathe. he clung to julian, almost not bearing all this squall of emotions and thoughts that fell on him.  
i love you, julian said, and i will love as long as you need it. i know that sooner or later we will leave for different clubs, i know we’ll be in constant danger of exposure, i know it will be difficult. but i’m willing to pay this price - for your sake. i’m confused, i don’t know what to do, how to avoid pain and to relieve you of pain, but i love you and i only have one life.  
kylian’s eyes were on fire, a tear burned his cheek - julian carefully wiped it off with his fingers.  
maybe it was just a waste of time. maybe it was suicide.  
and maybe it was their only chance./

/kylian  
after this day he and julian don’t see each other long enough - the team destroys dijon, and after that marseille, julian’s engaged in his treatment and gradual rehabilitation. kylian has a lot of scheduled meetings, unfinished business and decisions that have not been adopted so far, but this year he won’t go to real - a hundred percent. not only because of julian, but because of him too. when the feelings subsided a bit, kylian was able to sit quietly and ponder his position. julian would never demand from him to stay when he had the opportunity to start a new page in his career and in life. but the idea of separation right now seems murderous, when everything was just beginning. in addition, real was not yet ready to buy him - they lacked players of other positions and the priority was likely to be placed on them.  
and in that interview for téléfoot, he told the truth - he couldn’t leave paris now, on that bitter note. after all, he was only a human, and couldn’t act, relying only on any selfish ends.  
julian was far from the most global of his problem, but now, when they finally opened up to each other, kylian realised how madly he was fixated on him, how everything else seemed dust to him compared to this sudden love that had struck him.  
the time of international games is coming. kylian missed the team and the feelings of football in the national team, strikingly different from the game at the club.  
on the eve of his departure, julian calls him. kylian was then just lazily collecting things in his suitcase, mentally cursing all this turmoil and fees, and strenuously remembering where he could put his favourite watch. why did he even take it off? maybe left in the bathroom? the phone flashed and rang. kylian put his light-coloured shirt aside with displeasure and walked over to the closet where the telephone was sitting on the shelf. the name on the display immediately erased all irritation from his face, and he hastily accepted the call, biting his lip from the inside. there was no time to be bored at all, even at night, when the exhausted body spared him and fell asleep almost immediately, without giving time for serious thoughts, but this feeling – a sharp lack of julian - firmly settled on the subcortex, and kylian couldn’t escape from the anguish provoked by thought that he will have to spend the next couple of weeks without julian. at all.  
“hi,” he said, his voice weak, fragile.  
“hello, do i distract you?” julian responded, radiant and fresh - he was recovering, resting, and sunny paris outside the window didn’t allow him to get the blues. even in spite of fast separation from... whom?  
boyfriend?  
lover?  
“no, i’m not busy,” kylian answered after a pause. he nervously rushed about the room, devoured by doubts and an unbearable desire to see him. and not only to see.  
“i wanted to wish you good luck,” julian continued. the ways of germany and france separated for a long time, and in any case this time julian wasn’t called up because of his injury, but thoughts about how it was possible to meet on the field before the game and between the half-times, exchanging friendly looks and touches, the true meaning of which no one would know, to argue with each other, make bets about whose team will win (for kisses or something more serious), to kiss somewhere in the back room over the wall from their dressing rooms... thoughts about it were too painfully seductive.  
he wanted to do everything with draxler, literally everything. even go shopping or visit the most boring social events.  
“thanks,” kylian chuckled slightly. “and if we played against germany?”  
“then i’d wish you and your teammates to embarrass yourselves as much as possible,” julian solemnly proclaimed. he laughed, his laughter streamed from the speaker directly into kylian’s room with golden sparks, and suddenly kylian was filled with happiness, as if with fresh air, felt lightness in every part of his body. he went to the window, pushed the curtain aside - the blinding rays fell on the bed, on the tv screen, on the door glass.  
“in your dreams,” he replied, unwittingly feeling proud of his team. they fell silent, but the silence was blissful, bright. they both smiled, not daring to break it.  
“i have to go,” kylian said with difficulty, wishing with all his heart to feel his presence through the phone all day long.  
julian sighed in frustration.  
“damn, so sorry.” he paused, as if giving kylian time to calm his pounding heart, and continued: “take care of yourself.”  
“you too. gain some strength.” kylian took a deep breath, but couldn’t resist: “i miss you.”  
“me too,” julian answered quietly. “it’s a pity that i couldn’t see you.”  
most likely, when he returns, julian will be with the team again. kylian put down his phone and enthusiastically started sorting his things. julian wished him good luck, and maybe he’ll watch their matches.  
he’s simply obliged to show himself at his best.  
the sun was shining, birds were tweeting, and although they promised cold weather by noon, kylian was in love with this weather and this city, and he was absolutely ready to once again prove to the world why he’s the best./

/julian, kylian  
on the twenty-seventh, he finally comes to a full training session for the first time, and a giant load is off his mind. it’s unlikely that it could be something worse for a footballer than the complete inability to do his work. the feeling of springy grass underfoot, actions with the ball, shouts of trainers are so familiar that a two-week gap in trainings seems to be forgotten. the teammates gradually gather at the campus after a series of international matches, julian is extraordinarily happy to see everyone, but mostly - kylian glimpses among them all, like a camera flash, immediately getting all julian’s attention to himself. he arrived a few days ago, but meeting outside working hours would be a peak of idiocy, and therefore they had to wait for an official training session. kylian catches him with his eyes and slows down a bit, swallowing and licking his lips. he approaches, hiding behind layvin, who welcomes julian emotionally. he stretches his hand, and julian, giving him a hand in response, pulled him for a short and rather awkward hug. past all bearing he wanted to press his lips to the smooth hot neck, slide his hands under the kit, swallow his anticipating shiver, taste it all to the end, to the last drop, but only barely audibly whispered:  
“welcome back,” and lets him go, taking a step back. kylian’s eyes are wild, slightly defocused - julian is not the only one here who burns with obscene desires.  
and the training continues, although julian and edinson finish earlier, and they train at some distance from the squad - they haven’t yet gotten back into routine.  
...kylian catches his fingers on the way back to the locker rooms. a darkened corridor, a stretched sleeve of a windbreaker, musk odour of sweaty bodies, the sun, déjà vu; presnel probably sees them, but julian will care about it later. the back room door slams shut (too loud), and he almost falls on the wall - kylian pins him, vehement, provoked. julian roughly grabs his face, pulls at himself, a little surprised, where does this hunger come from? kisses are burning, smutty, generously diluted with bites and dirty curses, julian opens his eyes, watching kylian’s face opposite – blush flooded his cheeks, his eyes hazy, glaring. sore lips. corner of his mouth, resting on a lovely dimple.  
“i missed you so much,” kylian says hotly, his voice is low, the chesty notes are echoing under julian’s ribs. “julian,” he adds, having licked his lips and looking straight into his eyes.  
“i know,” julian whispers, stroking him under his shirt. kylian shudders, trying to get away from tickling. he bites his already swollen lower lip and sneaks under the gum of julian’s sweats.  
“i missed you too,” julian breathes out through his teeth. “little bastard, you were on fire in all matches,” he presses kylian to himself, doesn’t let him breathe between short deep kisses. kylian laughs, kissing his face:  
“you doubted?”  
“no,” julian suddenly whispers. he pulls kylian’s hand out of his sweats, impulsively hugs his neck, forcing him to nuzzle in his shoulder. kylian perplexedly hugs back.  
“i know you’ll leave one day, and that it’s better for you,” julian says, still barely hearable, kylian freezes to catch every sound. “but i don’t know how to let you go and how to continue playing here... without you.”  
kylian freezes, squeezing him tight. julian so rarely shares his feelings, is so different from kylian with his everlasting impenetrable armour of cool calm, that he feels completely helpless before piercing, painful fear now brought by julian. he clings to his chest, subconsciously calming down from the uneven, nervous rhythm beating through the thin fabric, and doesn’t know what to say - to say that he’ll never leave would be a lie.  
“i don’t know either,” he says in a whisper, jumping over entire chains of disjointed thoughts. “i don’t know how i’ll play without you.”  
julian raises his face with his palm, stroking the dimple under his lip with his thumb. examines his face, as if trying to remember. as if kylian prepared to leave at that very second.  
“i’m not leaving this summer,” kylian whispered excitedly. he pulled julian to himself, kissed slowly, gently, going mad from desire to remove disguised, prickly pain from julian eyes. julian relaxed and exhaled:  
“i know, baby, i’m sorry. of course you must go. when the time comes.”  
“i want to your house,” kylian stroked his back. i want to your house, maybe your sheets still smell of me, i want to your place and never leave your house anymore.  
julian smiled at him, receiving in response a radiant grin from the corner of his mouth, and nodded:  
“let’s go.”/

/thilo  
thilo bites his lip and diligently stares in the opposite direction. julian and kylian. kylian and julian. when julian, covering his burning face with his hands, confessed to him that kylian could count on reciprocity, thilo sighed with relief and decided that the problem was practically solved, but now, when these two blind idiots, without hiding, have almost fell into the back room with unequivocal intentions, he finally realised that the problem was not only not solved, but had acquired a completely unexpected colour. and this problem could lead to very, very sad consequences.  
the case of julian and kylian was not the only one and unique in their club.  
just no one would’ve thought that these two... would get along. no one.  
in fact, once poor moussa, without suspecting anything, went into the dressing room, where julian and presnel were very busy with each other, and neymar’s and cavani’s drunken sex at the birthday party of the latter was caught almost by the whole team, and it was a great luck that tuchel wasn’t there. thilo hardly imagined the coach’s reaction to non-traditional connections in the club, but he was inclined to think that at least some sins he guessed.  
he sighed wearily and turned around: thiago, frowning, resolute and very creepy, was standing directly opposite him, arms crossed on his chest, and gazing with a fearful look.  
“what’s happening?” thiago asked distinctly and calmly. he couldn’t lie. thilo in brief, without going into personal details, described the situation. thiago shook his head, wrinkled his forehead, covered his face with his hand, and cursed dimly in portuguese. thilo was silent.  
“santa barbara, my god,” thiago whispered, and then abruptly looked up at thilo: “do you understand that this should be stopped?”/

/julian  
relaxed, he leans back on the bed, glancing at the clock - 4:19. after a moment, kylian flops next to him, keeping a distance, puts his shaved head on his elbows, looks at julian. it is unnerving, but in a pleasant way.  
“want to shower?” julian asked serenely, unwittingly extending his hand to pat him on the back. kylian closed his eyes, cringed, enjoying the touch.  
“not now,” he babbled, opening his left eye. he slipped with his dexterous hand in the folds of a white sheet, like a snake in reed, put a chiselled palm on julian’s thigh. he didn’t want to say anything, but the hoarse, sated, exhausted kylian’s voice acted hypnotically, and he wanted to hear more. julian meanly scratched kylian’s ribs with his fingers, making him shudder and cry out with indignation. he laughed, rolling away. kylian began to smile too, lied back, crawled closer to julian, and, without giving him time, leaned on top of him, settling on his chest and shoulder.  
“kyli,” julian muttered in displeasure, but didn’t throw him off. on the contrary, he wrapped his arm around his waist, pressing him closer. a sensation of tight muscles and waist curve, smoothly turning into strong buttocks, under the fingers made his blood boil again. kylian felt it - he bent his knee, interlacing their legs, turned julian’s face to the side with his fingers and pressed his lips to his neck. he climbed upon julian completely, throwing the blanket away, and:  
“oh,” with a nasty grin, he pointedly lowered his eyes. “i’m a handsome guy, for sure, but you must somehow stay in control.”  
julian slapped his ass, kylian twitched and laughed, nevertheless, immediately becoming more serious. he quickly kissed julian, going down along his neck to his chest, then to the stomach - julian, instinctively following his movements, slightly slid down the pillow. he’d lie if he says that he never imagined it. but he doesn’t need to tell him anything or to ask, kylian always figured everything out, following his own desires, young, full of strength and unspent sexual energy, greedy for everything and sincerely aspiring to give a lot of pleasure to a partner - yes, he was definitely a piece of cheesecake. kylian kissed him beside the hip bone and slowly raised his face. he hesitated a little, bit his lip, looked at julian, as if expecting to be encouraged or prompted. julian slowly stretched out his hand and places his fingers to kylian’s jaw, feeling how he swallowed, slid his thumb into the hole on his plump chin (his weakness) and slightly pulled his lower lip to the side. the thought of being there, inside, was driving him crazy. he spread his legs wider so that kylian would fit well between them. kylian licked his lips and obediently sank below, resting his elbows on the sheet over julian’s thighs near his sides. he was nervous and terribly embarrassed, julian was moved by how ineptly he tried to hide it. his insides were twisting into a knot from anticipation. kylian glanced at him again, opened his mouth, as if he were going to say “i never did such a thing,” but then he relaxed, settling himself more comfortably and gently biting the inflamed, slightly oozing head. in surprise, julian jerked away and loudly breathed in through his teeth, squeezed the base with his hand and made several smooth movements, throwing back his head. it wasn’t painful, on the contrary - the sensations were too bright, he wanted them to be prolonged and sweetened even more. kylian was staring anxiously.  
“i did something wrong?” he asked gloomily, looking frowningly.  
“nothing’s wrong,” julian exhaled. he was assuming that kylian, like most of the people who give head for the first time, would begin with careful lickings, but it was time to get used to the fact that kylian rarely did things that were expected of him. at least it concerned julian.  
kylian licked his lips and stared at his dick. in fact, he did nothing, but the situation itself was simply driving nuts. julian squeezed himself a little and gently poked his head into ruddy full lips, pressed, slipping into the warm humidity of his mouth, slightly brushing his teeth, felt his tongue. kylian looked him straight in the eyes, and julian was getting fevered because of it.  
“kyli,” he croaked, stroking his cheek. kylian gently clasped the tip with his lips, sucked in and leaned back, releasing it with a smack. julian caught a string of saliva, rubbed it into his lower lip. there was even no desire to go inside till the very base, he wanted everything to go slowly, gradually, so that kylian gets used and chooses his own rhythm, wanted him to do everything himself. kylian widely licked the bridle and again put it in his mouth, tightly squeezing his inner cheeks. he didn’t try to use his hands, and this, too, was unbearably hot, julian’s head was spinning and a completely clear feeling that he won’t last long was creeping in. kylian was growing bolder, working his tongue and gradually taking in a little deeper. his eyes glowed feverishly and seemed to have become even darker, perspiration appeared on his face. he broke away from him:  
“do you like it?” his voice is low, heavy. julian closes his eyes and throws his head on the pillows.  
“yes.” he put his hand on kylian’s wet neck, slightly pressed and didn’t let go until he felt that he was pressing against the smooth wall of the throat. he looked at kylian: big eyes and clear cheekbones, swollen, juicy lips taut on his cock. kylian tolerates it a few more seconds, and then abruptly pulls away, exhaling loudly, smiling a little. a corner of his lips cracked and bleeds. he lowers his head and leaves several hickeys on the inside of julian’s thigh, and then again takes him in his mouth – julian’s on the verge.  
and then the phone rang.  
actually, the call wasn’t a bolt from the blue - the room was full of sounds, starting with the city noise from the window and ending with julian’s loud panting, a simple ringtone melody merges in even organically. but then julian swims out from the blissful pre-orgasmic state, and kylian pulls away. julian grabs the phone and again leans back on the pillows. he frowns, pursing his lips - the name on the display, “kimpembe”, is sobering better than icy shower. kylian lifts himself up a little on elbows, watches julian, but asks nothing, waits until the situation clears up.  
“hello?” julian says, with all his heart hoping that his voice doesn’t betray what he’s doing now. more precisely, what kylian’s doing to him.  
he’s tired of feeling like a part of some distorted love triangle, tired of feeling guilty towards kylian every time he laughs with presnel and spends time with him (although now it’s much less often), tired of moving away from kimpembe without explaining anything to him.  
and yet he’s increasingly being harassed by the terrible feeling that sooner or later he’ll have to choose, (or that he will be chosen), and that communication with one of them won’t ever be able to return to normal. at such moments, julian wants to fall face down on a pillow and never get up.  
“hello, pres,” he says, without waiting for an answer. the black, wary eyes stared unblinkingly at him — kylian. bitten lip, powerless hands under his thighs, ossified jealousy.  
“babe-e-e!” kimpembe habitually cried out. he was in a good mood, his voice was serene, light. “don’t you miss me?”  
“nah,” julian replied vengefully.  
“i’ll come over, babe? going back from sarah, am not far from you.”  
the horror pierced julian through, he barely held back hysterical shout “no!”. an impish cynical voice in his head asked: “why? you don’t even have a relationship, he’s just a very close friend. technically you aren’t cheating on him. what’s the matter, eh, julian?”  
no, they had much more than a relationship, and julian knew that kimpembe wouldn’t forgive him. panic fear of losing him - losing forever, unconditionally, to become nobody in his eyes - chained julian’s hand and foot, didn’t allow him to breathe.  
kylian. kylian. julian couldn’t get him out of his head, no matter how hard he tried.  
“no,” he said slowly, trying to speak calmly and half-jokingly. to sort things out - not now and not by phone. “let’s talk tomorrow after the match.”  
yes, he’ll say it tomorrow.  
kylian relaxed, spread out between julian’s legs, pressed his warm cheek against julian’s thigh.  
“why are you so busy?” presnel was intrigued, but then unexpectedly easily retreated: “okay, then see you tomorrow, drax.”  
“see you later,” julian closed his eyes with relief and was sitting for a few minutes like that, clutching the phone in his hand. the bed sagged on its sides: kylian climbed on top of him:  
“listen, i don’t want to force you to give up on something or someone, julian,” julian opened his eyes, but kylian didn’t let him begin. he cupped his face:  
“everybody knows how much you and presnel mean to each other.”  
“it can’t continue like this,” julian said and gently squeezed kylian’s wrist. “but no matter how i explain it to him, we will no longer be able to communicate normally. you know, we can’t be friends, teammates, it will haunt us forever.” he paused, trying to collect the thoughts together. kylian carefully looked at him, gently stroking his cheek with his thumb. “but i can’t refuse you. i can’t anymore.”  
the curtains glowed with sunset gold and swayed easily from the wind. the sun’s rays were sneaking around the walls.  
“i can leave this summer,” julian said barely audibly, throwing his head back on the pillow.  
kylian was silent, but due to the slowly emerging fury in his eyes, julian read a quick storm.  
everything was so messed up./

/julian  
after playing with toulouse, his general condition is almost in the red. probably the worst is inaction. if he had the opportunity to go on a substitute, join the game and make at least some effort, albeit ineffectual, it would be much easier for him. he descends from the stands, making his way through the crowd to the tunnels, and there’s emptiness in his head. he doesn’t know what he has to say to presnel.  
“julian!” kimpembe calls him, raising his hand with a t-shirt and smiling at all thirty-two. julian hastily greets the rest of the footballers in the locker room, absently avoiding thilo, who makes some strange grimaces to him, briefly shakes mbappé’s hand – he throws a rapid look at him, but quickly leaves without looking around.  
“hello,” julian says, as usual finding himself in a strong hot embrace. kimpembe smells like fresh sweat and perfume - a heavy mixture, but a long time familiar.  
“what kind of business you had yesterday, it was more important than me,” presnel shoved him, putting him back on the ground, and laughed uncontrollably. julian was dizzy and something was aching inside his chest. not the heart.  
“presnel,” julian said, not feeling how his lips move, how his ligaments work. “we need to end our relationship. i mean sexual.”  
“what are you talking about?” kimpembe asked, still amusedly, throwing a t-shirt over his shoulder. tattoos, lips, collarbones. an inexplicable longing in his look that julian wrote off for background factors like a shitty game or family issues all the time.  
“you know what.” julian scratched the ground with his sneaker. presnel was silently looking at him, and it was just unbearable.  
“why?” presnel asked shortly in a completely different voice.  
“i might leave the club this summer,” julian replied calmly. kimpembe waited a bit, as if still expecting a full answer, and then snorted:  
“the dumbest excuse i’ve ever heard.”  
“this is not an excuse,” julian was staring down. “you know perfectly well that this is true.”  
“you really think that this is a good reason, draxler?” presnel asked in a quiet voice, interrupted by anger. “you fucking think that’s all? that i’ll give up on you because we’ll play in different countries?” he was serious, cheekbones and chin sharpened and fire in the eyes - julian clasped his teeth.  
“i don’t think you’ll give up on me,” he said softly. “ _i’m_ giving up on you.”  
presnel straightened. words distorted his face like a slap, have left a terrible imprint. _betrayal._  
“we wouldn’t bear it, kim,” julian said hardly audibly, watching the world crumbling around him, with concrete walls and acid rain. “do you know about distant relationships? lena and i didn’t bear it. we were together since high school.”  
“did you say it to kylian, too?” sharply, as if from a machine gun, kimpembe spat out. julian flinched and reflexively took a step back. thoughts chaotically flashed in his head - how, when, from where - did he know all this time? knew - and never showed?  
“it was hard not to notice,” kimpembe grinned. “thilo, by the way, is a good boy, didn’t betray you. a true friend.  
“why didn’t you tell me to fuck off right away?” julian asked exhaustedly. everything was so bad that it seemed like a nightmare.  
presnel was silent, just looking at him with hollow black eyes, straight as a string, inaccessible, far away, and julian suddenly began to realise something, with fragments, memories, images. how presnel was begging: “let me go.”  
not with words.  
“don’t tease me, please, julian.”  
“don’t try me, babe.”  
julian covers his face with his hands.  
“yeah, yeah” presnel says somewhere out of his sight. “i love you, _babe_. but you are kinda slow on the uptake. kylian, too, is in the sweet captivity of self-deception?  
“presnel,” julian whispered, feeling almost on the verge of hysterics. “i should’ve talked to you much earlier.”  
“keine sorge, babe,” presnel was smiling. “best friends, right?”  
it was all the worst that julian feared.  
but he was never actually a lucky guy./

/kylian  
there were few stars above paris, but the city itself was sparkling with a million lights - the spire of the eiffel tower, residential buildings, neon signs, car headlights were burning. dull reflections of light lied on julian’s naked back, he was leaning on the balcony railing. julian looked down at the street, and kylian shivered chilly from the dank night air in his thin t-shirt.  
“we also need to part, kylian,” julian said in a low voice, as if thinking. “also”. kylian knew about his conversation with presnel - and he wholeheartedly felt sorry for both of them, wanted to howl from a heavy burden of guilt, and he had more than enough of these endless break-up’s and make-up’s with julian, but it was all part of the story, which means it’s supposed to be like this.  
he stretched out his hand — an orange glint from a passing car settled on his forearm — and carefully, slowly laid it on julian’s shoulder blade. julian flinched a bit.  
once he came to julian for the first time and imagined how julian is standing on the balcony, contemplating night paris. he once thought that he’d like to stand next to him.  
“no,” he whispered. julian is as broken as a ship after a storm, and as puzzled as a new-born child, but: “everything will work out. with presnel too. you should always pay for everything, the price is sometimes too high, you know that. i know who presnel is to you and what you’ve lost, but you chose me and you must be responsible for this choice.”  
...that he, too, would like julian to pick him up before training. that it would be nice, to drink coffee with him in the morning.  
julian shook his head, wanted to say something.  
“i know that you may leave this summer,” kylian whispered, not letting him turn around, afraid of his gaze. “or i’ll leave later. but we can say the same about every parisian.”  
julian sighed, lowered his head. his skin was warm and silky under kylian’s palm - the only link connecting him with reality.  
“i know that sooner or later we’ll have to part,” kylian said with pressure. julian finally turned to him, his attentive, hopeful gaze burned kylian like the sun at july noon. how julian was staring at him, taking away his strength, will, pain, insecurity, fear – a sucker punch. “but i also know that it will be not today. and not tomorrow either.”  
paris was buzzing, never asleep and forever beautiful. julian hesitantly swung, giving up, accepting, yielding - and leaning over, buried his forehead in kylian’s shoulder, covered with fine knitwear.  
perhaps it was a mistake.  
_most likely_ it was a mistake.  
but kylian was definitely not going to think about it today.  
tomorrow is also not a good idea./

**Author's Note:**

> ...i'm a sucker for them, what else can i say


End file.
